Love and War
by ShinySherlock
Summary: A new lawyer is not what she seems, and she's got the homicide squad all in a tizzy; Bayliss takes a shine to her, but Munch is suspicious. Munch is a better detective than anyone gives him credit for, but Bayliss has a dark side.


Written in winter 1997/1998

Author's notes at end.

Ellen looks up at the imposing red brick building that is the Baltimore police station, western division, and she wonders what the hell she is doing here.

Don't get her wrong. She chose to come. She knows the risks involved. What she could lose. But it didn't really hit her until just now.

Policemen in uniform pass her. One gives her a cursory look as he walks by, then turns back to his partner, engaged in conversation.

She knows she looks nice today. Her appearance has been carefully constructed.

This was the first morning she had used a curling iron in years, let alone the challenge of using eyeliner and blush. Carrying all her things in a purse and a briefcase makes her feel awkward, she notices. They hang off her like odd appendages that are constantly getting in the way.

As a homicide detective in Los Angeles she had developed a simple daily routine over the last four years. Get dressed in a pant suit, none of this skirt business. Wear comfortable shoes you can run in easily. Take your gun, badge, wallet and keys, and a clip to pull back your hair when it gets in the way. Mascara and chapstick if there's time, but never anything more.

She knows she probably looks like a normal, average woman, but she feels like a mannequin, and it took her nearly an extra hour to get ready for work. The worst part is the high heels. She would kill for a worn pair of Doc Martens right now.

It's hot out here. Her hair is damp around her forehead and at the base of her neck. She should go inside, but she can't seem to get her feet to go up the stairs quite yet.

Through the door is uncertainty. Her current assignment is temporary, and it's entirely possible she'll make more enemies than friends. Officially, she's just on loan to help out the Internal Affairs Department here in Baltimore, and then back to L.A.

But she knows she won't ever go back. She's here to stay, no matter what happens.

Even if the job falls through, she can always find some kind of employment in Baltimore. She is, after all, a multi-talented girl.

Staring up at the glass window above the double doors, she reminds herself why she has left her old life behind.

Up the steps, Ellie, she tells herself. Move those feet up the steps; I don't care how much those shoes are pinching your toes.

Inside the squad room, homicide detectives sit at their desks, trying not to move. The AC is out. Again. Ties have been removed, and top buttons of shirts gape open around flushed necks.

It's fucking hot, and the phone is ringing.

"Who's up?"

A tall, deceptively young-looking detective sighs. "Me." He reaches for the receiver and half-barks, "Homicide. Bayliss." He starts scribbling on the nearby pad. "Uh-huh... okay."

He hangs up the phone and pulls his grey suit coat from the back of his chair. Friggin' dress code. He's going to have to wear this damn coat, and the tie, even though people in the streets are lounging around in shorts and tank tops. He scans the room for his partner, Pembleton. When doesn't see him anywhere a grimace crosses his usually relaxed features.

"Where's Frank?" he asks his sergeant.

The red haired woman looks up from her desk. "Don't know. Take Munch," she suggests gleefully, seeing that the lanky detective has just settled into his chair to eat lunch at his desk. Teasing John is one of Kay Howard's favorite pastimes.

Munch mumbles protest at her through a mouth full of hot pastrami.

"Nah, never mind. It's a no-brainer - I'll handle it," Bayliss replies, preferring to deal with the case alone than endure either Frank or John right now. Even the dispatch operator said it looked like a suicide. With any luck he'll be going home on time today.

He walks purposefully towards the elevator, pushing long arms through the sleeves of his coat and punching the call button. The doors open and he leans in to the car - and smack into some woman he's never seen before. Pretty, and tall - but unfamiliar, and he's in a hurry.

Assistant State's Attorney Ed Danvers is beside her. "Hey, Bayliss, where's the fire?" quips the older man before Tim has a chance to apologize.

Consternation crosses the detective's boyish, yet weary face. It sounds like an afterthought now but he doesn't know what else to say. He meets the woman's hazel eyes for an instant. "Sorry."

They trade places, Ed also stepping out around them.

"S'okay," she answers in a mellow voice. The doors close around Tim's distracted expression.

Ed puts a hand at the woman's elbow, leading her into the squad room.

It's pretty much what she expected. Open area with desks scattered throughout. The desktops are in disarray, only one or two computers, and filing cabinets decorate the perimeter of the room. One thing surprises her - at this moment, the phones are quiet.

Hardly anyone is in the room. A grumpy-looking detective is eating a sandwich at his desk and a woman with curly red hair is hunched intently over paperwork. Ellie tucks her hair behind her ear self-consciously. She doesn't quite understand Ed's motivation for introducing her to everyone like this. She feels on display enough as it is, just from having to switch to a high maintenance appearance. Damned if she'll let it show, though. Especially since the grumpy one is checking her out.

Munch is checking her out. She is taller than average height, slender, but with a woman's curves. Munch figures she's in her early 30s. If she's with Danvers she's probably a prosecutor, though he might have guessed from her suit: black linen, light blue satin blouse. Nice, but not too nice. She reminds him of Russert - knows how to look good on a budget. Nice brownish-red hair that frames an oval face. Light eyes, rosy lips... He'd do her, he thinks to himself. Then again, anything in a skirt would pretty much do.

"Hello," he says to her, unable to take the leer out of his voice.

Danvers frowns slightly. "Detective John Munch," he begins in a tone that indicates he clearly regrets John's existence on the planet, "meet Ellen Santos."

John smiles and his eyes sparkle behind his lightly tinted glasses. "Where'd you find her?"

Danvers ignores Munch, but Ellen answers. "L.A. I've been in the D.A.'s office there for four years."

"Charming place," he says sarcastically.

Her smile disarms him completely. "Well, that's why I moved _here_," she answers smoothly, a voice like honey. Munch likes this girl already.

Kay has picked up interest at this point and wanders over.

"Hey, Ed," she greets him with a warm smile.

Ellie looks from Munch to the woman standing next to them. Light eyes. Strawberry blonde hair that must be absolutely gorgeous when loose is confined to a hasty bun atop her head, no doubt because of the weather.

"Kay - Ellen Santos. Sergeant Kay Howard." The women shake hands. Ed continues, "Ellen is my new right hand man, uh, so to speak. I've gotten some new responsibilities lately that are gonna keep me pretty tied up, so you'll be seeing a lot of her."

"Nice to meet you," Kay says. Ellie nods. This is all well and good, but both women know what needs to happen. Respect grows from proving yourself.

"He in?" Danvers asks with a nod towards the lieutenant's office.

"Yeah, just got back from lunch. Come on," Kay says, leading them over to Giardello's door. Ellie turns and gives Munch a little nod of goodbye, and then Kay is knocking on Gee's door. A gruff "Come in" follows.

Lewis and Kellerman arrive in time to see the threesome disappear into Al's office. Both detectives stop and look to the door with interest, and Munch is reminded of two cats he had once, who followed each other around the house, mirroring each other's movements.

"Who's that?" Meldrick Lewis asks, pulling off his coat and hat and laying them up on the coatrack.

Munch ignores the light-skinned black man's question, hoping Lewis will drop it. He was willing to postpone lunch in order to talk to a beautiful woman, but not for Gumby and Pokey here.

"Hey, Munch, the man asked you a question," Lewis' partner, Mike, prods. Not that he's defending Meldrick's honor or anything - he wants to know who the skirt is, too.

"New lawyer. Danvers is parading her around like a pony, but she's taking it well," Munch answers, wondering if he'll finish his sandwich in the next century. About to take another bite, Kellerman interrupts again.

"A pony? Looks like a thoroughbred to me," Mike says appreciatively.

Munch just grimaces sourly. Lewis refrains from reminding Kellerman of his current entanglement with Julianna, aware that any discussion of their relationship has been making Mike surly of late. He changes the topic.

Tim can't remember if he's ever been in a house this nice before. He goes up the staircase slowly; his slender fingers glide along a banister that feels like glass.

He was wrong: this is going to keep him late. This house belongs to Somebody.

To make matters worse, the uniforms have touched things. He bites their heads off, but it doesn't make any difference now. They've compromised the integrity of the scene, they've unwittingly destroyed evidence, they're idiots and now they've ruined his day.

Tim Bayliss is surly, tired and sick, sick, sick of... something.

Everything.

Where the hell is Frank? He should suffer too. Tim grimaces. Actually, maybe it's a good thing Frank isn't around. Maybe it's a very good thing.

He yells at the uniforms as they all stand there in the very tastefully decorated bedroom of a dead girl. It takes a moment before he realizes that they have probably already received a tirade from Julianna Cox, the medical examiner, but she's more than happy to let him reinforce her message: don't touch ANYTHING. EVER.

He stalks away from the uniforms, who disperse penitently for their door-to-door inquiries.

"You havin' a bad day, too, Bayliss?" Julianna asks, looking up at him from where she kneels near the body.

"Bad life," he answers grimly. "What can you tell me?"

They focus on the body. A young woman with long blonde hair lays on the bed, under a thin blanket. She wears a navy blue silk pajama top. Other than the deep red stain on the white pillowcase beneath her head, she looks like she is sleeping.

"White female, looks like she's in her early twenties. Shot once in the head."

"Who closed her eyes?" Tim asks.

"Whadda ya mean? No one closed her eyes. They were closed when I got here," Julianna says defensively.

Tim frowns. "She shot herself with her eyes closed?"

"Apparently. From the looks of it, she ate the gun, but I'll need to-"

She stops abruptly. Frank Pembleton is standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

Bayliss turns to where her eyes are focused. The panther-like black man leaning against the door frame has his intense, liquid eyes riveted to Tim's.

"Hi, _partner_," Frank greets with sarcastic inflection.

Bayliss ignores it. "Where were you?" he says accusingly.

"In court. Testifying. I told you about it this morning," Frank says with an inkling of annoyance. He moves on.

"So, what happened here?" he asks no one in particular as he steps into the room.

"Have to get her back to the lab, but at this point it looks like a suicide." Julianna pauses then says, "There were two uniforms in here poking around when I got upstairs."

"Yeah, and the first cop on the scene moved the note; came right up to me with it in his hand," Bayliss adds, "ungloved, of course."

Pembleton is appalled. "How did that happen?" he asks Bayliss pointedly.

Tim is sure that Frank is somehow thinking it's his fault.

"Excuse me?" Bayliss asks, narrowing his eyes at his partner.

"How long did it take you to get here, anyway?" Frank asks, walking away from him before Tim has a chance to respond.

Someday he will kill Frank. And no one will blame him.

Back in Danvers' office, Ellen Santos is a little puzzled. She sits quietly across from his desk, waiting for him to finish his phone call.

Why introduce me to everyone like that? she wonders to herself. It seems a little presumptuous. She doesn't even know when she might be working with them. It could be weeks. She picks lint off her skirt, tangentially thinking that black was probably not the best choice of color.

He hangs up the phone and looks over at her.

"I just wanted them to see you with me. It makes a difference to them, trust me," Ed explains, almost as if reading her mind. "Of course, they won't trust you until you win a case for them, but you know how that goes..." He trails off.

Yes, she knows. She knows it's even more than that. They won't trust her until she wins a case they don't think she can win. Until she proves them wrong. She hopes it happens soon. The sooner she can finish this case, the sooner she can move on to the next step: making Baltimore her permanent home again.

"...anyway, I just wanted to -"

"Show them that I'm officially approved?" Ellie offers with an innocent glance. "You're so sly, Ed."

"Now isn't that the pot calling the kettle black," Ed teases. He's so glad to have her here that his usually marginally arrogant exterior is melting a little with her. "Besides, who said I was purposely introducing you to everyone? We were just taking a tour of the building."

She nods her head, but her eyes are doubtful. "Really, though, it makes me look... special. Not like a team player. Someone they have to treat differently," she explains, pin-pointing what it was that bothered her about the introductions. "Howard already seems doubtful of me."

Danvers wears an unreadable smile. "She'll warm up to you," he reassures her.

Pembleton thinks it's very interesting that the gun is nearly under the bed.

"Hey, Bayliss. How exactly did this young lady manage to shoot herself and then fling the weapon three feet away afterwards?" Frank asks, pointing to the location of the gun.

Tim takes this in. "Who found the body?"

An officer pipes up. "I did. Neighbor called 911 when they heard a shot."

"Where's the neighbor now?" Pembleton asks.

"Front yard."

Pembleton looks to Bayliss, who nods silent assent. Frank will interview the neighbor, and Tim will finish up in the house. Despite all the tension between them, or maybe because of it, they do work well together.

Partners who agree all the time get complacent. Sloppy. Tim suspects their lieutenant knew exactly what he was doing when he paired them up.

It feels like a lie to set up her office as though she were planning to stay there more than a couple of weeks. But, for now, it is her home away from home, and she needs to decorate accordingly. A Dilbert mousepad. An X-Files coffee mug. A framed picture of Henry: a beautiful yellow Labrador. Yes, pathetically, she loves her dog more than some of her close relatives or friends. She knows it's pathetic. She doesn't care. The dog loves her no matter what. The dog never criticized her for moving across the country for a mere ghost of a chance at a job. Nope, Henry enjoyed it. There was something wonderfully unconditional about Henry. Feed me and I will love you forever. Period. And even if you forget to feed me one day I'll probably still forgive you.

Oh, to be a dog.

Ellen shakes her head when she realizes that she wants to trade places with a furry monster who licks himself in obscene places. She sits down in the less than comfortable chair and boots up her computer. Instantly kicks off her high heels underneath the desk.

Time to figure out a plan of attack.

Typing out her ideas helps her think, even though she knows she can't possibly save a computer file with the information she's writing down. It wouldn't make sense to most people - but it would make devastatingly perfect sense to the one person who mustn't know why she's here.

Who's least likely? Who you most suspect. Who's most likely? Who you least expect. How to gain trust, comfort level? Hang out after work. Friendly, but not too friendly. Play hard to get. Find out where they go.

Be natural about it. A lot of sitting and waiting.

Her least favorite thing to do. Sit and wait.

She deletes the notes and exits the program without ever having saved the file, and it vanishes into the ether.

She sighs and looks around the small, dingy office. Old wallpaper and old furniture surrounds her. She stands up from the awful chair, and pads over to the only good thing about the office: the window that looks out onto the water. Her naked toes revel in the feel of the carpet and she is thankful she decided against nylons, especially in this heat. The two o'clock sun sparkles on the gentle waves of the river as it makes its way to the bay, and Ellie squints as she watches.

Ellie. That's really what she'd rather everyone call her. Maybe she should mention that. If any of them ever call her "Ellen" she could just quietly, nonchalantly say, "Ellie, please." Just toss it out like it doesn't really matter. It will make her a little more approachable, she figures. She takes a last look at the water and returns to her chair.

She decides to wait outside Danvers' office until he's done with his meeting. She needs to talk to him about her plan of attack. She won't tell him everything. It would be stupid for any one person to know everything, but he can help her get her foot in the door, and that's what she needs right now.

She has a name now. Cindy Harrington. Daughter of Congressman Harrington, no less.

Tim and Frank are in high gear - they've got a couple hours, tops, before this becomes a major red ball. Most people still think it's a suicide, and right now that works to their advantage.

"So, who we visiting?" Tim asks as Frank drives across town.

"Raymond Simmons, ex-boyfriend. Neighbor thinks Raymond took the break up badly."

Tim's eyes light up. "That must be who the letters are from." Frank looks at him. "We found letters laying on her desk. Only one or two days old, begging for her to take him back. No signature. No return address."

Frank allows himself a little smile, but Tim's shaking his head.

"It can't be this easy," he offers.

Raymond Simmons' apartment is small and neat. Actually, _he_ is small and neat: about 5' 7", and his chinos have a crease in the legs. His hair is still wet from the shower.

Raymond is also a calm one. When Pembleton tells him Cindy has killed herself, his reaction is so carefully balanced between surprise, grief and control that Frank fights the urge to applaud.

Tim is all sympathy. Pats the young man on the shoulder. "I know this is hard for you, but would you mind coming down to answer a few questions?"

Raymond nods weepily. "Sure."

Lieutenant Giardello is an unhappy man, and that puts the fear of God into his unit. The barrel-chested black man bursts out of his office for the third time and detectives scurry to look as busy as possible.

His laser-beam gaze centers on Kay. "Where are they?"

"I've beeped them twice, Gee. They gotta be on their way here," she reasons calmly.

But his jaw is still grimly set, and he sweeps the room with his laser vision just to confirm for himself that Bayliss and Pembleton are not there.

He bounds back in to his office, and the door bangs shut behind him.

He doesn't like it when the lawyers know about his cases before he does. Ellie and Danvers are in his office, and Ed's got his undies in a knot. Gee understands - he's got senator's aides hovering over him, too. He plunks down into his leather chair, his hands fiddling with an errant rubberband. He hears Ed sigh and watches him attempt to relax in his chair, then looks over to Ellie, gauging her. She is surprisingly calm for someone on her first day: no hysterics, no forced displays of coolness or confidence. She sits with her legs crossed in the squishy leather chair in the corner near a much more nervous Ed. Gee makes a mental chalk mark in her favor.

There's a tap and the door opens. Kay leans her head in the doorway. "They're here," she says with a nod towards the squad room. Gee stands from his chair and comes around to the front of his desk eagerly as Tim and Frank enter.

Two more people makes the little office feel cramped, and Tim and Frank scoot themselves in, facing Gee and half turning their backs on Ed and Ellie, who tuck themselves further into the corner. The presence of lawyers this early in the game is usually a bad thing, but neither of the detectives is surprised. Frank notices Ellie right away and looks to Gee questioningly.

Gee doesn't notice - or doesn't care. He says hopefully, "Tell me you have a suspect."

"Bitter ex-boyfriend Raymond Simmons is in the box," Frank is happy to inform them.

Though relieved, Gee doesn't show it. "What have you got on him?"

"We're checking the gun for prints," Tim offers, though everyone in the room knows they probably won't find any.

"Threatening letters to the deceased," Franks puts in.

But Tim can't let that one go. "Unsigned."

"Handwriting analysis and the print lab will match it with the note left at the scene, and link it to our boy," Frank adds with his usual confidence.

There is silence for a moment. They know it before he says it.

"It won't be enough," Ed tells them gently.

Gee focuses on his men. "You know what to do."

They let Raymond Simmons cook a little in the box. Reflect on his actions. Hopefully regret them enough to confess.

Ellie and Ed find a moment alone in the coffee room. Detectives mill about in the squad room, and she can hear Bayliss and Pembleton discussing search warrants around the wall from them. If they keep their voices low, no one will hear them above the din.

"Are we sticking around for the show?" Ellie asks, remembering the unique thrill of interrogating a suspect with a partner you trust. She imagines a cat feels much the same way when it torments a mouse by batting it around, holding it by its tail - but never killing it.

"Yeah. I think you should watch. I'm probably going to assign you to this case," he tells her, sipping a semi-noxious cup of coffee.

She lowers her voice. "Isn't it a bit high profile?" she asks, tucking her hair behind her ear. "He wouldn't want a case that attracts so much attention."

Ed leans in closer. "Maybe not. But I've got to give you something to do or you'll seem suspicious," he reasons. "There'll be enough people working on this one that it won't be a catastrophe if you have to drop it." She nods.

They resume their nonchalant postures just as Gee comes around the corner. Ellie wonders if Gee ever enters a room unnoticed: he's one of the most imposing figures she has ever met.

"We're ready," he says.

The box is four walls of yellow brick. A small window looks out into the squad room, and a trick mirror at the back conceals the observation room where Danvers, Gee and Ellie have assembled.

To call it Spartan would be an understatement.

Raymond sits, uncuffed, in a hard, wooden chair at the standard issue, scratched up table. He looks tired. Still weepy. A bit unsettled. He's picking absentmindedly at the splinters in the table surface.

Enter Bayliss and Pembleton.

Tim starts. "Hi, Raymond. Sorry to keep you waiting so long," he says with an apologetic smile.

Raymond is eager to please. "That's okay."

Tim takes a seat across the table from him, and Frank lingers a few feet away.

"We're working on figuring out why Cindy might have done this to herself," he continues gently. "You were close to her, weren't you?"

"Yeah. Pretty close." He reconsiders. "Very close."

"Do you know anything about why she might... do this?" Bayliss is so gentle. So quiet.

There is a studied pause, then Raymond answers, "I think she was taking our break up really hard. She really wanted to get back together, but..." Raymond is choking up. "But I just didn't love her that way anymore," he manages.

Bayliss is the picture of sympathy. "It's okay. Do you want anything? Coffee? Some water?"

Pembleton knows exactly what Tim is trying to do - another advantage to having worked together so long - and he interrupts on cue.

"Raymond, Cindy was older than you, wasn't she?" Frank asks, happy to see that Raymond seems slightly shocked that he's speaking.

The boy answers defensively. "Only three years older."

"So, she was a senior? Graduating this year?" Pembleton asks as though he doesn't know already.

"Yeah," answers Raymond, averting his eyes.

"Hmm."

He can't resist asking. "What?"

"Well, usually in those kind of relationships, the _woman_ gets tired of the _boy_. Just _uses_ him for sex, or whatever, then _dumps_ him when things get complicated. Flicks him away like a _gnat_. Just ask my man, Bayliss, here -"

Tim gives him the appropriate glare.

"- She. Dumped. You. My friend, that's clear as day," Frank asserts, happily rubbing it in.

"Frank -"

Pembleton ignores Bayliss' interruption and fixes his gaze on the suspect. "So, where exactly were you this morning, anyway, Raymond?" he asks in a matter of fact tone.

Raymond is thrown by the question. "I was... I was at school," he answers, confused.

"Lay off, will you?" Tim says pleadingly.

Frank places his hands on the table and instigates himself between Tim and Raymond.

"Where. Exactly."

Raymond's resentment appears as he figures out what Pembleton is implying. "Johns Hopkins. Bio 134. 10 to noon."

Frank nods knowingly. "Big class. Pretty easy to make an appearance. Then slip out unnoticed."

Bayliss stands up. "Just what are you saying, Frank?" he asks, almost as insulted as Raymond.

"What do you think I'm saying, Tim?"

"Are you trying to say this young man killed his girlfriend?"

"Ex-girlfriend -"

"What are you talking about?"

"Bayliss, this boy killed that woman because she rejected him; it's as simple as that," Frank says. Case closed. Problem solved.

Raymond's attention is riveted on their little play.

"This _boy_ killed that woman," Frank continues. "This boy couldn't handle an adult relationship so she dumped him - and he got revenge," he says calmly. A snide smile crosses his lips. "You probably envy him - at least he had the balls to confront her."

Tim feigns anger so well that Frank is almost convinced himself. Bayliss is still surprised when suspects actually fall for these charades, but Frank says it only further proves his point: crime makes you stupid.

Tim's voice comes like a growl. "Get out."

Pretended incredulity. "What?"

"Get out of my face, Frank," he says fiercely.

Frank throws up his hands. "Fine." He strides towards the door, but turns at the last moment. "You stay here with your buddy; but he's mine, Bayliss." His gaze moves to Raymond and he smiles wildly. "You're mine."

Pembleton leaves, but Bayliss gives the door a good shove behind him so that it shuts with force. Sighs loudly. Pushes a strong, pale hand through his cropped dark hair and looks up at the young man sitting at the table.

"I'm sorry," Tim says. "I shouldn't have... I didn't mean to lose it like that."

"It's okay," Raymond says, slightly embarrassed to have witnessed the scene. And curious.

"He just.. he knows exactly how to get to me," says Bayliss as he comes around the table and sits in the chair next to Raymond. Much closer now. "I guess that happens with people who spend a lot of time together."

"Like a married couple," he volunteers helpfully.

Tim laughs inwardly at this. Outside he is all agreement. "Yeah, just like a couple!" he says with a smile. The smile carefully turns into a frown and he lowers his voice confidentially. "See, there was this woman. She was older than me, too, but we got along great. At least -" a meaningful pause " - at least I thought we did. But I guess she didn't."

Raymond is nodding. "I know what you mean."

Pembleton has joined them in the observation room. "We got him," he says confidently.

Ellie shakes her head in disbelief. It will never cease to amaze her. So easy to trick the bastards into confessing. It's as though they want to tell.

Danvers smiles. He can feel the senator's aides starting to fall off his back.

"Amazing, huh?" Ed asks. He knows this is a skill she can appreciate.

Ellie doesn't take her eyes off the unfolding scene. "Like he can't stop himself."

Gee smiles wryly. "The power of guilt."

Tim ponders his next move. The boy seems willing to talk, but wrangling a confession takes art. He'll have to be careful.

He keeps his voice low; private. "You have to ignore Frank. He doesn't know what it's like. He's married. Settled. He doesn't know what he's talking about. What the women out there are like."

"Brutal," Raymond says off-hand.

Tim looks at him wide-eyed, as though he has revealed the meaning of life. He points emphatically at the boy. "Exactly! Brutal - very well said. _That's_ how it felt when she broke up with me. Cold. Merciless. Rehearsed. Like I didn't matter to her at all."

"Exactly!" Raymond answers, happy to at last be understood.

A cloud passes over Tim's face and his gaze darkens. "Maybe Frank's right."

This upsets Raymond. "Whadda ya mean?"

"Maybe I do envy you," he says with confidence, looking at Raymond with an air of respect.

"Why?" he asks, excited.

Tim puts a friendly arm around the boy's shoulders. "Because _you_," he taps the boy's chest, "- you had the guts to do something," he says fiercely near Raymond's face. They lock gazes. "Because you made her _pay_ for what she did to you. And I never did that. I just took it."

Raymond nods, oddly weepy again.

Still holding his enrapt gaze, Tim's voice takes on an almost seductive tone. "How did it feel, Raymond? How did it feel to finally make her hurt as much as she'd hurt you?"

A pause. A sniffle. An unconscious decision made.

"Not as good as I thought it would be," Raymond answers softly, a tear slipping out onto his cheek.

Tim's voice is still a whisper of compassion. His arm is still around the boy. "Why not?"

Nasally the boy replies. "I should have waited until she woke up. I didn't expect her to be asleep," he whispers, leaning slightly into Tim's embrace.

"Why'd you shoot her while she was asleep?" Tim asks rather quickly, hoping to God he won't see the trap.

"I _had_ to. If I waited, I woulda chickened out. I wanted to confront her." Raymond's voice has lowered to a sniffly whisper. "So she'd know why. But I freaked out."

Tim keeps his voice sympathetic. It's so easy now to pretend. His gaze is understanding, and he asks his final question. "So you shot her while she was asleep?"

Raymond nods. "Yeah," he says hoarsely.

Without warning he leans into Tim's shoulder and starts sobbing in earnest.

He repeats it brokenly against the fabric of the shirt. "Yeah."

"Idiot didn't even see it coming," Frank says in a rare moment of admiration for Tim. They're walking down to the print lab to see what, if anything, has been discovered on the gun. After that, they're off to search Raymond's apartment.

Tim is modest, but he can't hide a little smile. "I dunno, Frank, maybe he wanted to tell somebody. I just became the right person to tell."

Frank shakes his head. "You're the _worst_ person for him to tell, Tim, but he was too dumb and confused to see it." Then Frank is smiling, too. "Gee should be grinning for a week over this one - red ball avoided, confession acquired, suspect booked, all in less than four hours. Quite a feat, even for us."

Tim actually pats Frank on the back. "All in a day's work for superheroes like us, Frank."

Danvers, despite the inevitable protests from the powers that be, has assigned Ellie to the case. She lingers in her office past quitting time, but the visitor she's hoping for doesn't show. She's not surprised. It's too soon.

She found a moment to buy a hair clip at the drug store down the street and she finally has her hair hastily pinned up and off her damp neck. She sits at her now file-covered desk, preparing for the arraignment, pre-trial motions... things she hasn't had to do for a long time. She reminds herself to practice her "lawyer-speak" at home later. The cadence. The inflection. The vocabulary.

The knock nearly makes her jump, and her hand flies to her purse where her gun is hidden.

"Come in," she says, sounding cool as November but readying the gun. Danvers pokes his head in. She sighs loudly. "Jesus, Ed, you scared me."

"Jumpy, Ellie?"

"Just a bit."

He smiles. "I've got just the thing for you. Bring the files."

She decides to wear her gun in her belt holster, where it belongs. It means hiding it discreetly under her suit jacket - murder in this heat - but she feels better having it near.

"Where we goin', Ed?" Ellie asks as they step out into the night covered street.

"A little place I know."

She is in no mood for games, and she doesn't think Ed really understand the singular joy of walking in high heels on cobblestones. They walk a while along the sidewalk until she starts to get uneasy. "Ed -"

"Here we are," he says, turning into a doorway.

She reads the sign: The Waterfront. A bar and grill type of joint. Ellie gives Ed a smile: dinner in an air conditioned place will go a long way to helping her get in a better mood.

"Munch, Lewis and Bayliss own the place," Ed says over his shoulder as he pushes through the door. She follows him before he has a chance to hold it open for her.

The Waterfront is one of those nice, neighborhood places. Rustic red brick walls, and thick, dark wooden tables and chairs. She can see a pool table in the back, then her eyes drift to the highly polished bar when Bayliss and Lewis are drying glasses. Cops everywhere, she notices.

The smell of greasy fries and burning hamburger drippings reaches her nostrils, and her stomach grumbles. Why is it that the female taste buds seem genetically programmed to crave exactly the foods that are the absolute worst for the rest of the female body? She steels herself against temptation.

Tim and Meldrick glance at them briefly from behind the bar as they walk in. A nod from each, then they look away again. In fact, Tim looks away a little quickly, and he hopes she didn't notice. His stomach is flipping in a way that reminds him of middle school, and he is disgusted with himself.

You need a date, Timmy, he tells himself. And not with no lawyer.

He remembers her from that morning, at the elevator. He remembers thinking that for someone all dolled up, she didn't smell the way he expected - no perfumes, no fruity shampoos. Just a clean, musky scent of her that he encountered when he ran right in to her, and later as she stood silently in Gee's office. Silent. But watching. He could feel her eyes taking everything in, looking everything over. Looking him over. He steals a glance at them.

Danvers and Ellie gravitate to a table in the corner and set down their load. Files get dumped to the side and they sit in the reasonably comfortable wooden chairs. Ellie pulls the menu out from where it's tucked between the sugar packets and salt and pepper shakers and takes a look at it. The shoes come off again under the table. She just can't seem to keep them on her feet.

"Wanna drink?" Ed asks, standing to go to the bar. Ellie reaches across the table and puts a hand on his arm.

"Uh-uh. I'm introducing myself this time."

Ed shrugs, settling back down. "Suit yourself."

She hands him the laminated menu. "Will you order me a salad, ranch on the side?" she asks quickly before she can change her mind to chilli cheese fries and a bacon cheddar burger. She can't wait for her PMS to be over. It's always like this; she feels like she could eat a whole side of beef and still be hungry.

Ed nods assent, and Ellie pivots out of her chair to head over to the bar. She pads barefoot across the dark wooden floor and sees Meldrick and Tim pretending not to notice her.

She considers clearing her throat to get their attention - but where would be the fun in that? She moves to stand directly in front of Meldrick, who is busily drying tumblers.

"You must be Lewis," she says.

Unprepared, Meldrick lets surprise cross his face for an instant. But only for an instant. He points at her.

"And you're Ellen Santos."

"Ellie," she says, with a disarming smile. She's such a shameless flirt sometimes.

Meldrick smiles crookedly. "What can I get you, Ellie?" he says smoothly.

"Sparkling water, and a beer for Ed, please."

"Sure."

She feels Bayliss looking at her.

"Hi," she says, friendly. She meets his gaze.

"Hi," he answers with a careful smile. If he's surprised by her direct approach, he hides it well.

"You were amazing with the Simmons kid," she offers sincerely.

He doesn't know what to say to that. A shy tilt of the head escapes him, and then Lewis is back, handing her the drinks, and she's walking away before he can say anything.

Barefoot. What kind of lawyer walks around barefoot, he thinks to himself. And what kind of lawyer has that _voice_. Her voice is amazing. Husky, resonant. The kind of voice that drips sultriness and sarcasm with equal aplomb.

"Who is she?" he asks, turning his eyes away from her.

"You don't know?" Lewis asks with surprise.

"I've been solving murders all day, Meldrick; I'm countin' on your lazy ass for the gossip," Tim teases easily, grabbing a towel from under the bar to help Meldrick dry glasses.

Lewis lets that one go. "She's working for Danvers -"

"Really?"

He shoots Tim a warning look. "You want to know or not?"

Bayliss is silent.

"Ok, then. She's working your case, and everyone's nervous 'cause she's a rookie -"

"A rookie? She's as old as we are."

"Yeah, but she's a rookie to _us_," Meldrick reasons. "She's from LA. Worked for the DA for four years. 80 percent conviction rate."

Tim lets out a low whistle.

"That tidbit courtesy of Mr. Munch, ace detective."

"If she's so good, why are they nervous?"

"Senator's daughter? Are you kidding, man? Danvers will take this away from her within the week, I guarantee you," Meldrick asserts with confidence.

"Then why is he letting her have it at all?"

"For the same reason Gee let you keep Adena Watson."

Adena.

The name still affects him.

It's been five years since then. His first case. Five years since the little girl was found molested and stabbed to death. Still unsolved.

He has developed a thicker skin since then. He's able to joke about death; to function - even thrive - in the face of atrocity. But the murder of children will always pierce that protection. As easily as a needle pricks a balloon.

There are still nights when he wakes up from the nightmare. The one where he watches her being violated. Sliced. Left dead in

the rain. The one where he sits in the shadows; unable to help, unable to speak.

Adena was the defining case of his career - his _life_ - as a murder police. Despite its brutality, the way it haunts him, he knows he would not be who he is now if Gee had taken the case from him.

"I hope he lets her keep it," he says softly, looking at her a moment.

She catches his gaze over her conversation with Ed, and gives Tim a warm look for an instant. Then back to her files.

Meldrick she out and out flirts with, but he gets a "warm look."

"No way, man. Friday, tops," Meldrick says, interrupting Tim's thoughts. "But at least Danvers is standing up for her."

"Yeah," Tim concurs.

Ellie smiles inwardly, glad to see the boys talking about her, and to have Bayliss look at her not only with interest, but a hint of sympathy. It's more than she expected on her first day. But then, she is decked out. If she was in her baggy suit and no make-up, they wouldn't give her a second look. Every word out of her mouth would be just be friendly, not flirty, and they certainly wouldn't be whispering about her. Interesting what a skirt and eyeliner can do.

"So, tell me about our little band, here," she invites Ed as they eat their dinner.

"Ok. At the bar we have Meldrick Lewis. Nice guy, separated, hasn't gotten into any trouble since joining homicide. He, Munch and Pembleton have been around the longest. He's a good detective. Hot-headed sometimes, but they're all like that."

"Sort of comes with the territory," Ellie elaborates. She's been known to be a little hot-headed herself.

"Then there's Bayliss. Moody. Lots of highs and lows. Got handed a lots of gruesome stuff right away. He's been homicide for five years. Threatened to quit a few times. Kind of unstable."

Ellie's ears perk up. "Unstable how?" Unstable could mean disgruntled. Disillusioned. Greedy.

"His lieutenant says he doesn't really know when to stop caring. Blows up sometimes. Gets violent with suspects."

"Oh."

Her dismissive tone makes him curious. "What?"

"Well, I doubt it's him we're looking for. If anything our guy is the opposite - doesn't care at all. What he does would let suspects go free, right? So he'd have to be so cynical or so desperate that he wouldn't give a rat's ass if the bad guys get away," she reasons.

Ed nods. "Probably." He bites a fry thoughtfully, then continues. "Frank Pembleton you met at the station."

"Bayliss' partner?"

"Yeah. He's one of the finest detectives on the squad. Married, has a kid, another on the way. Had a stroke last year. One of the most honorable and single-minded people I've ever met," Ed says. "And one of the most difficult to work with," he adds after a moment.

He chugs on his beer and swallows. "Only one you haven't met yet is Mike Kellerman, Lewis' partner."

Ellie cocks her head to one side. "Munch doesn't have a partner?" she asks.

"No. Hasn't for a while. That's one reason there's an opening in homicide, although mainly it's that they finally got around to fitting it into this year's budget. Al's been waiting for almost two years. Anyway, Munch kind of floats around, or Kay will go out with him when they're busy," Ed tells her. He pauses for a moment. He doesn't want to tell her this. He hates doing this at all. But she may as well find out from him. "There is one thing, though. Kellerman got into a bit of a scandal last year. Used to work in the arson unit, and there was a case brought

against him for taking a bribe."

Ellie waits for him to finish.

Ed sighs and looks down at the table. "He swore the whole time that he was the only one who _didn't_ take the bribe, but he wouldn't testify against his arson buddies. He was cleared of all charges."

Ellie nods - and leaves it alone. Whatever information she wants on Kellerman she can get from someone else. She changes the topic. "Tell me more about Munch. He seems pretty cynical," Ellie offers gently. She knows this is distasteful to Ed; but he knows it's necessary.

"I don't know, Ellie. Frankly, I don't think it's anyone in homicide. I think it's a uniform officer responding to the scene, or someone in evidence control," Ed says with conviction.

Ellie proceeds carefully. Ed likes these people, and she's spying on them. "I know, Ed. I agree with you." She pats his arm. "But IAD is already working those angles. This is what they gave me to cover. Your office and homicide."

He looks at her. "Just doing your job, huh?" he asks, not without warmth.

"I don't find it any more pleasant than you do. You know what I'm hoping for," she says softly. She wants a permanent position as a detective. Homicide is where she belongs, where she thrives, but she'll take anything - robbery, vice, whatever. She'll even be a lawyer again if she has to. There are many reasons for her returning to Baltimore. Reasons Ed knows nothing about.

But Ed does know what she wants in her career. "Horrible that this is the way you get your foot in the door," Ed sympathizes.

"Yeah. But I'm treading very lightly," she answers, finishing her drink. She glances towards the bar.

John walks into the Waterfront, stripping off his coat and tie.

"De-tect-ive Munch," Lewis greets him, stressing the syllables.

He waves it off. "Yeah, yeah. Gimme a scotch," John answers.

"A serious drink," remarks Lewis.

Bayliss chimes in. "For a serious guy."

"Hey, I've been hitting brick walls all day, Golden Boy. No weepy confessions on _my_ shoulder; _I'm_ dealing with hardened criminals," Munch grumbles.

Lewis hands him his drink and he downs half of it in one gulp. He glances surreptitiously around him.

"I see Miss Perfect is here," he says.

"Yeah, she's tough, man. Came right up to me and said 'you must be Lewis'," Meldrick informs him, imitating her confidence, the way she looked him up and down in an instant.

"That so? Well, she's not the only one doing her homework. Found out a little more about our new friend," he says confidentially.

The two bartenders move in closer.

"Got a pal in LA who's a PI. Turns out Miss Santos hasn't practiced law in a while. She quit the DA's office in '91 and he can't find out where she's been since then."

Lewis and Bayliss take this in.

"Maybe we should call her Mystery Lady," Bayliss quips.

Lewis shakes his head. "C'mon, that don't mean anything," he defends.

"You're just saying that because you like her, Meldrick," Munch accuses.

"What's it to you if I do?"

"Nothing; except that I saw her first," Munch declares.

"What," says a voice behind them, "so you get 'dibs'?"

Three heads pivot towards Ellie, who has snuck up behind them. Bayliss grins a little. Maybe that's why she walks around barefoot.

Munch recovers quickly. "Lovely as you are, counselor, how do you know we were talking about _you_?"

"I never said you were, detective," she says with an innocent smile. Innocent, my ass, thinks Munch. This girl knows exactly what she's doing.

She hands her empty glass to Meldrick. "Another, sweetie?" she asks in her sugar voice, and he refills it, handing the glass back to her with a grin.

"Thanks."

She takes a step away and then turns to face them again.

"Technically - " She points momentarily to Tim. "_He_ saw me first."

And she floats back to the table, drink in hand.

Three detectives stare dumbfounded in her wake.

Munch breaks the silence. "That's my kind of girl," he says.

Bayliss shakes out of his fog and answers sourly, "Any girl is your kind of girl."

John shrugs. This is pretty much true.

Lewis huffs lightly. "_You're_ the one who's suspicious of her - checking her story."

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate her style," he defends, taking another swallow of his scotch.

"I don't think it was her style that you were appreciating," Lewis comments with a leer.

Tim frowns. This is not a dialogue he is interested in, since it's obvious Meldrick is only pretending to be attracted to her to irritate Munch and Munch is too suspicious of her to be seriously attracted to her.

The conversation deteriorates further, and Bayliss finds a reason to wander over to the other end of the bar. From his dark corner he can watch her without being seen. She'd have to turn her head to see him and she seems intensely focused on talking with Danvers. He thinks back to the look she gave him earlier. Not sympathetic exactly. And he doesn't really know what he means by "warm." Something inviting and welcoming, but not in a "come hither" way. As though she were a friend almost.

The idea of being thought of as only a friend for the millionth time in his life makes him groan audibly, and the guy sipping his martini at the bar gives him a funny look.

He doesn't want this woman to think of him as a friend. He likes her. He likes her in that dangerous way, and he's only known of her existence for less than eight hours. It's ridiculous.

From his dark corner, he tries to assess her objectively. She's not gorgeous or anything. Just... pretty. She's stabbing at her salad and trying to avoid the cherry tomato - she keeps pushing it to the side. Ed says something and she smiles, putting the fork down on the plate. It's the smile, really, that does it. Lights up her whole face. And she has open, expressive hazel eyes. Munch and Lewis make it sound as though she's some sort of sex pot, but as Tim sees her from his spot, she looks like a normal woman. A little tired, but alert. Low key. Focused on

her conversation with Ed and able to block out the din of the place.

Munch's discovery bothers him a little. But only a little. Ed certainly has checked her out before hiring her. And after all, he doesn't know her. He doesn't know anything about her.

All he knows is she smells good. And she gives him warm looks.

Ed pays for their drinks and dinner. When they leave, she doesn't say goodbye. She gives a little nod of her head as she and Ed go

out the door, and then she's gone.

Tim earnestly hopes Ed lets her keep the case.

When the alarm goes off at 4 a.m., Ellie is unsure of what planet she's on, much less what state or city. Groggy and irritated, she pounds at the little clock radio until it shuts up.

4 a.m. Too fuckin' early to be awake. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

She untangles herself from the sheets and plants her feet on the hardwood floor, then forces her body up. Coffee. Then she'll get to work.

By 6:30, she's finished. Every little nook and cranny has been searched in detail - easy enough since she hasn't fully unpacked yet - and every outlet cover and phone jack has been inspected.

Nothing. Good. The last thing she wants is somebody eavesdropping.

The last step is the black thread. She locks every window and ties a little, invisible piece of thread around the locks. Thank God for air conditioning - the place will be sweltering by the time she gets home.

Her dog Henry thinks this is all very interesting. He has been following her around the house, sniffing at everything she has been doing with his big, wet nose. As she takes a shower he suns himself in the warm spot on the kitchen floor, content that the apartment has been secured.

When she leaves for work, one more piece of thread goes around the front lock.

Just in case.

Around noon the knock comes on her door. She's calm now; no urge to reach for her weapon.

"Yeah?" Ellie answers, nose buried in a file. Ed pops in.

"Lunch?" he offers with a smile.

Ellie shakes her head at him. "Don't you work for a living?"

He shrugs charmingly, and she smiles. "My sister would call you a bum," she chides.

"Your sister _has_ called me a bum. Many times," he admits, coming over to sit on the edge of her desk. "So, lunch?" he repeats.

"Naw. Thanks, though." She gazes at him mischievously over the wire rims of her glasses. "I have a plan."

Ellie walks into the squad room quietly. Carefully. She slinks around the edges of doors as though she's trying to not to interrupt or intrude. She looks slowly around the room until she sees her target: Bayliss, on the phone at his desk.

Most of the detectives are gone, though she sees Giardello moving about in his office. She walks over shyly to Tim's desk, approaching him from behind, but he sees her coming this time. He smiles a little acknowledgment to her, and waves her towards him.

God, he's cute, she thinks inanely, feeling all of 13 years old. He has perfect teeth and soft, soft lips, and his smile is making her heart thud...

Knock it off, Ellie. Work to be done here. No time for adolescent stomach butterflies. Yet she can't help smiling sheepishly as she comes up to him. He holds up his hand, fingers spread, and mouths the words silently: Five minutes.

She nods, and sets herself leaning against his desk, purposely close to him. Then she sees he's got the same affliction as she does: he grins nervously at her with a flash of his brown eyes, then turns his chair a little so that she only sees his profile as he talks into the receiver.

It's so reminiscent of adolescence that she nearly laughs out loud.

She needs to distract herself, and settles for inventorying his desk. Files are littered over it in a form of organized chaos that is familiar to her. No plants, no pictures. A Rubik's Cube.

She picks it up and starts playing with it. It looks old. The multi-colored labels are faded at the edges of the plastic pieces, and the parts move loosely as she slides them around, trying to solve the puzzle. First, get all the white ones, she remembers being told. Why white, she has no idea. She imagines starting with any color would do. Maybe the person who told her that strategy had white as his favorite color or something. But who the hell picks white as their favorite color? She starts organizing the blue side instead.

She listens to his voice as he talks. Something about Harrington's ME report. He has a slight accent that tells her he's a Baltimore native, but it's controlled. In fact, many things about his voice seem controlled. The tone. The volume. The way he pauses in the middle of sentences to emphasize a point. He probably stutters when he really gets angry. He probably stumbles over his words and gets red in the face, she

guesses. From what Danvers has told her, Tim Bayliss is either very in control or not at all.

His hand movements betray his feelings. Impatient, he taps a finger absentmindedly on the edge of the desk, a few inches from her hip. He realizes how close he is to her and pulls his hand away, further proof that she makes him nervous. No rings, she notices. Good. He switches the phone receiver to his other ear almost as though he wants to keep the hand nearest her occupied.

"So, what you're telling me is..." The index finger of his free hand draws an invisible map in the air as he repeats again what the ME has told him on the phone. Such long, restless fingers, always moving.

She figures his gesturing is like her habit of scribbling and doodling. Unconscious, yet it helps her think. It's funny how much you can learn about a person when you really pay attention, she thinks. He turns a little in his chair so that he can see her, and she returns her gaze to the blasted cube. She can never get more than one side done, it seems.

He's wrapping up his conversation and she puts the toy down where it was, with the blue side completed. He hangs up and stares at the cube, long enough to prompt her to ask, "What?"

He shrugs it off. "I always do the blue side first," he says, meeting her eyes with his own.

The cliché is out of her mouth before she can stop herself. "I guess great minds think alike, eh?"

He gives her a goofy smile, then steps up from his chair in a smooth movement, emphasizing his long body. She has to turn her head up to look at him now.

"So, what can I do for you, counselor?" he asks in his soft voice. His full r's and s's resonate in the air between them, and she thinks of how instantly intimate he has become simply by standing up and lowering his voice. And she remembers how deliberate he is.

She matches him. "How 'bout a date?" she asks, her voice low as well. His eyes widen only slightly but he betrays no other reaction - just keeps standing very close to her.

His voice is doubtful, but interested. "A date, huh."

"Yeah. You had lunch yet, Detective Bayliss?" she asks innocently.

"Someone say something about lunch?" asks a nasal voice behind them. She watches Bayliss narrow his eyes evilly at John Munch,

then turns her head slightly to see Munch's reaction.

John ignores him, turning his attention instead to her. "Hope so. I'm starved," the lanky man declares, his smile parting into a full grin.

Ellie considers this complication, and decides that it isn't necessarily a setback. She stands up between the two men.

"Mammy Jo's still around here?" she asks, recalling the soul food restaurant she had loved as a teenager growing up in Baltimore.

As a child her father had forbidden her to go there (he had always been paranoid about certain "elements" of the neighborhood) and so she went there just as often as she could. She doubts anyone she knew is there now. It's been almost fifteen years since the last time she set foot in the place. They wouldn't recognize her now anyway - she'd been a lanky, horsey girl then; a tomboy with long dark hair.

"Yeah, it's still here," Munch answers before Tim can. A puzzled look comes across his face for a moment. "Didn't realize you were from around here."

Ellie just smiles mysteriously. "I don't confess much on the first date, guys. Sorry to disappoint," she says teasingly. This "bad girl" routine is kind of fun, she thinks to herself as she nods towards the door. "Shall we?"

"Sure," Tim says. He puts a hand at the small of her back to follow her out, and effectively places himself between her and Munch as they leave the station.

The small talk falls apart before they finish the first basket of bread. There is a moment of awkwardness and Ellie decides to rescue them.

"So, what'd the ME say about Cindy Harrington?" she asks.

Tim seems grateful for a topic in his element. "Well, it looks -"

"Wait, shop talk?" Munch interrupts. "Have we given up already on trying to spend an hour like normal human beings? Are we so tied to our roles as professionals that we can't relate to each other on any other level?"

Great, sighs Tim. Waxing philosophic, again. Fine. "All right, John, what do you want to talk about?" he asks, leaning back in his seat.

"Well, since you're asking, I think we should talk about Ellie here," Munch says, looking the surprised woman straight in the eyes.

She cocks an eyebrow, then waves a hand at him. "Ask away, honey," she says with one of those disarming smiles.

"Well, first off, tell us about this strange accent of yours. You don't sound like someone from LA, and we already discovered you lived here for a while. So, how do you end up sounding like a southern belle at one moment and then a Harvard lawyer at the next?" Munch asks. He seems friendly enough, but Ellie's gut is telling her to be careful. And Ellie's gut can find water in the desert, so she becomes wary.

"Ain't no mystery - I grew up here. Lived here till I was eleven or so. Then moved to New Orleans, and then went to college in LA. So I learned the lingo wherever I went," Ellie says with a shrug. "But 'lawyering' does require an entirely different way of speaking than say, being a homicide detective," she says, hoping to put him on the defensive.

Tim gives her a crooked grin for that, but her smile tells him she's teasing. John on the other hand, is only further intrigued. "So, is _that_ what you did after quitting the DA's office?"

Tim gives Munch a sharp look but Munch won't look away from Ellie.

Her eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"According to my sources, you haven't worked for the DA since '91," Munch says plainly.

"Not full time, no. If your source was any good, Detective, he would have also told you I was on leave for a year and then came back to work part-time," Ellie lies easily, with just a hint of indignation. She looks to Tim for a moment, who seems thoroughly embarrassed by his colleague's behavior, and then turns again to Munch.

"I guess I shouldda had Ed forward my resume to you," Ellie says with a good-natured smile. Alarm bells are going off in her head, but she won't dare show it. Drink your water, smile a little. He should stop.

And he does, but with an odd look that makes her think this is not the end of Munch's inquiries.

Shit, shit, shit. Now what?

Tim looks, wide-eyed, at the two of them. Ellie's hiding behind her menu and Munch looks self-satisfied. What the hell just happened? The waitress comes around and he feels oddly relieved.

Bring food; quickly. Anything to return to the previous universe where everyone was getting along.

Lunch proceeds without any further drama. The three of them return to the station together quietly, the uneasiness still hanging over them. As they go back into the squad room, Munch is civil, but clearly still suspicious and more than a little smug.

"Well, thank you both for lunch, but I better get back to work," she says without much warmth. She nods slightly at Munch, who salutes her flippantly with a tap of his forehead, and she turns on her heel without saying goodbye.

She's all the way to the front door when Tim catches up with her.

"Ellie."

She keeps walking towards the elevator. The doors are opening and she steps in. "Listen, Detective, if you're here to cross-examine me you can just turn around and go right back to your pal Munch," she says, her voice sounding bitter and childish. She doesn't care - this is a bad, bad wrinkle in her plan.

He follows her in. She looks up at him in surprise for a moment, then punches the button for her floor. The doors close. The bustle of the outside hall is eliminated and they stand alone in relative silence.

"I don't know why he did that. I'm sorry," Tim says softly. "He's not usually such an asshole."

She smirks. "So I'm getting special treatment?" Geez, Ellie, lay off the sarcasm, she thinks to herself. This is the one you want, remember? She looks down at her feet. "I'm sorry. I just... you know, everyone wants to be liked. Silly, I guess."

He's standing close to her again. She sees his shoes about a foot from her own, and she looks up to see him staring at her.

He blinks. Shrugs a little. Looks up at her from under long eyelashes. "_I_ like you," he says honestly, lacing his words with the lightest innuendo.

She can't help smiling. "Thanks," she says softly. God, she can't stop looking at his lips.

He's closer now - how did that happen? - and his head is leaning in towards hers.

"Come to the Waterfront tonight?" he asks quietly as she stares at his mouth.

"Yes," she says without thinking; without breathing. Her face wrinkles up with memory. "No. Shit." She finally looks up at his eyes, breaking the spell. "I... Ed and I are gonna be working on this case most of the night, I'm sorry," she says earnestly.

"It's a bar, Ellie; you gonna work till 2 in the morning?" he asks in that damn seductive tone, low and near her face.

She smiles shyly and looks up at him through hooded lids. "Maybe I'll drop by."

The elevator stops.

He smiles. "Okay," he says, like he's letting her get away with a 'maybe' - this time.

The doors slide open and she backs out. He keeps his eyes on her, and she waggles her fingers as the doors close around him.

_Jesus_. She wanders down the hallway to her office. She shuts the door behind her, dumping her purse on the chair opposite her desk. Kicks off the shoes. She pulls her straight brown hair off her neck and traps it with a clip to the back of her head. The layered strands around her face make their inevitable escape, but she just brushes them out of her eyes and goes to lean against the windowsill.

The water sparkles brightly in the afternoon sun. She breathes in the salty air and tries to memorize the scent of Bayliss' aftershave.

"Don't tell me: you apologized for my behavior," Munch says sourly as Tim returns to the squad room.

Tim's chin lifts. "Well, I thought somebody should. And you weren't going to."

Munch just huffs in response, and Tim turns away from him, going back to his desk. Munch watches him as he sifts through phone messages. Talks to Frank. Picks up his Rubik's cube and stares at it.

Tim likes the girl. Munch can tell. Tim didn't usually make a special effort to apologize for Munch unless he was worried about guilt by association.

John turned back to his paperwork with a grimace. Something didn't sit right with him about that woman. He pushed away from the typewriter and picked up the phone. Maybe Greg, his private investigator friend, had been able to find out a little more about her.

Late that afternoon, when Ed Danvers pokes his head into Ellie's office, he sees her sitting in her creaky chair, staring pensively out onto the orange-glowing water.

"Ellie?" he asks softly, feeling hopelessly intrusive.

She answers without turning. "Munch suspects."

Of course. It would be Munch, Ed thinks. He rubs his temples to relieve the sudden headache that is blossoming behind his eyes. He sighs loudly and sits down into the straight backed chair opposite her desk.

Ellie turns sideways, tearing to gaze from the waves. "He started interrogating me at lunch in front of Bayliss."

Ed frowns. "Shit."

"It's okay. Tim was all apologies about it. Embarrassed, actually. I don't think it'll mess up the plan." Ellie smiles a little. "He said he likes me."

Ed looks at her with curiosity. "Ellie, do you like _him_?"

Ellie examines the gold band on her right hand in response, and Ed shakes his head slightly.

"Ironic, isn't it? The guy I'm supposed to be pretending to be romantically involved with makes me breathless with a smile," she says wistfully. She looks sideways at Ed, who is decidedly uncomfortable at her admission, and she laughs.

"Sorry, Ed. Girl talk."

Ed tries to return to a topic with more secure footing. "How is this going to affect your investigation?" he asks.

"Well, it won't. I won't let it. I'm just hoping that this charade is enough to lure our suspect, you know? He's going to want to blackmail me over _something_, but it's not like lawyers having relationships with detectives is against the rules."

"No, it's not. But you being new and Bayliss possibly being the lead investigator on a case you're working on might be enough to tarnish your reputation."

"Yeah. If I'm on a case that our suspect has access to. I don't think it's going to be the Harrington murder. That one's pretty open and shut now, and it's too much of a media circus anyway," Ellie reasons, finally turning her chair around to face Ed fully.

Ed looks down at the floor for a moment, then meets her hazel eyes with a serious gaze. Ellie feels her stomach drop a little, and she knows it almost before he says it.

"Actually, that brings me to the reason I dropped by..."

Ellie nods unconsciously.

"They want you to sit this one out, Ellie," he says gently, his expression compassionate. She closes her eyes. Nods again.

"Think of it this way - you're open for any other case Bayliss works on," Danvers offers sympathetically. She waves away his concern.

"Oh, I know, Ed. It's just always fabulous to hear that people doubt your ability," she explains with a sad smile. She straightens in her chair. "Anyway, I've got more to worry about than the bosses right now. What to do about Munch, for instance," she says thoughtfully.

"Want me to talk to him? Keep him off your back?" Ed offers.

"No," Ellie says firmly. Realizing it sounds harsh she adds, "Thanks, but I think it'll work better if I just approach him myself. Wouldn't want you to think I couldn't clean up my own messes."

He smiles. "You always have before. You're pretty good at cleaning up other people's messes, too."

"Yeah, but that gets old fast, my friend. That gets old fast," she repeats softly, fiddling with her gold ring again.

The mood is bluer now, and Ed tentatively asks, "Ellie, are you sure you want to go through with this, with Bayliss? It's not too late to find another way..."

"Yes, it is, Ed. I'm going to find a way to do it without hurting him. In fact, maybe feeling these feelings makes it better," she says with a little more enthusiasm. "Because then I'm not tricking him, or lying to him about the feelings. Maybe it will make the truth easier to take when I tell him."

Ed isn't sure. "Maybe," he says gently. He sits back in the wooden chair. "So, what are you going to do now that you have your evening back?"

"Well, as much as I was looking forward to hashing out the details of how to nail Raymond Simmons to the wall, I think I'll go cry in my beer," Ellie answers with a genuine smile. And hope the man with his soul in his eyes is there to waste some time with, she adds silently. The smell of aftershave teases her nostrils.

The sun still hangs doggedly at the horizon, refusing to set in these lengthened summer days. The afternoon heat abates in the early evening to give much awaited relief to the sweltering city. A tall woman is crossing the cobble stone street. People swirl in and out of the station house behind her, and she doesn't notice the slender blond man who follows behind her at a leisurely pace.

Arriving in between happy hour and the late crowd, Ellie notes that the Waterfront is relatively quiet. Though not deserted by any means, she is happy to see only two or three patrons sitting at the bar.

Tim is the only bartender at the moment. She walks by him and he raises an eyebrow in surprise, obviously not expecting her until

later. She shrugs a little and moves to the far end of the bar, away from the others as Tim finishes serving a martini to the old man seated on the corner.

Ellie kicks off her shoes, bending down to tuck them into her leather bag that only an hour ago held the Harrington case file. She sits up again, her naked toes curling around the cool metal of the stool leg crossbar, and now Bayliss is walking over to her, wiping his smooth hands on a white towel. She's happy to see him in casual clothes - a henley and faded jeans do more for him than a rumpled suit ever could.

"Hey," he says with a dazzling smile, and she melts.

"Hey yourself," she replies.

There's a moment of silence as they grin at each other inanely. Ellie curses her fluttering stomach. Control, Ellie, control.

"Um, you're early," Tim notes astutely.

"Yeah," Ellie says, tucking a stray hair behind her ear nervously. She frowns a little. "I've suddenly got a lot of free time on my hands," she admits.

His brow crinkles and he cocks his head to one side. "No," he says.

Ellie nods. "Yeah. The powers that be pressured Ed to ditch me," she says with a feigned pout.

He ignores her light tone and answers earnestly, "I'm sorry, Ellie."

Goddamn. She finds herself drowning in his liquid gaze and it pierces whatever control she has over her nerves.

"Jesus, Bay, turn those eyes off," she says suddenly, before she can stop herself.

Tim's amazement shows on his face. "Excuse me?"

Ellie blushes in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, it's just... you could melt someone with those, Bayliss, you really could. You should be careful," she warns. It's like I can see your heart through them, she thinks. How can you play a suspect, pretend so well when you have eyes like that?

He teases her a little. "Sorry - left my sunglasses at the office." He looks at her oddly for a moment.

"What?" she asks, sure that she has something on her face or in her teeth.

"Nothing."

"No, not nothing. Tell me," she urges firmly.

"You called me Bay."

Chagrined, she says, "I'm sorry."

"No, just... no one calls me that."

She shrugs. "Must be the L.A. in me - an intense need to abbreviate everything into annoying acronyms," she explains. "Rather I call you Tim?" she offers.

He considers this. Shakes his head once. "Nah. Bay's cool." He points at her. "But just for you, understand?"

She makes the girl scout salute with her right hand. "Oh, absolutely. Scout's honor."

He stands up from where he's been leaning on the bar and straightens his posture. "So, what can I getcha?"

"Promise not to think less of me?" she asks, her voice husky and low again like the night before.

"Okay," he says easily.

"I really, _really_, want a Long Island iced tea," she nearly groans.

Tim is mesmerized.

"God, does anyone deny you when you ask like that?" he says softly, the words leaving those perfect, perfect lips like trailing smoke.

She inhales deeply. "I hope not."

Man, those two look ready to jump each other, the blond man thinks to himself as he nurses his beer. From his corner table he has a good view of the man and woman falling all over each other at the bar. This looks like a relationship that will progress rather quickly, he thinks with a snide grin. Very promising. He double-checks the camera he has in his duffle bag.

Three drinks later Ellie is pretending to be drunker than she is. It isn't much of a stretch - she's got a nice buzz going - but she knows exactly what she's doing.

That's about the time John Munch walks in, looking dour in black jeans and a black shirt. He eyes the two of them carefully, and despite Tim's wary look, comes right up to them at the far end of the bar.

"Hi guys," he begins amiably enough. "Are we celebrating?"

Ellie smiles miserably at him. "Commiserating."

He looks to her to continue but Tim jumps in, "Ed took the Harrington case from her."

"Oh, that's too bad," John says. They both eye him suspiciously, but he keeps going. "I'm glad you're here, counselor. I wanted to apologize for lunch today. Sometimes I let my imagination get carried away with me," he says to her charmingly.

Ellie doesn't buy this for a second, but she answers graciously, "Thanks, detective."

"Please, call me John," Munch says, too sweet. He gestures towards the stool next to hers and she shrugs.

"Hey, it's your place," she says, watching him carefully.

Tim remains wary. "Yeah, but it's my place, too," he puts in, and Munch looks up at him.

"Hey, Bayliss, I said I was sorry. I just came to buy the lady a drink; make sure there were no hard feelings," Munch says innocently, showing his open palms as though to demonstrate he had nothing up his sleeves.

Tim looks at Ellie for a response and she nods a little. Munch cringes inwardly at the sight of Bayliss taking cues from a relative stranger instead of his own friend and colleague - but forgives him. He's smitten. He doesn't know any better.

A customer enters and sits at the other end of the bar and Tim notices him.

He gives a warning look to Munch as he moves to leave.

"I'll be good."

Tim looks doubtful.

"I promise!" Munch insists, and Tim shakes his head a little as he goes over to the man who had walked in.

As soon as Tim is out of earshot, John turns to Ellie with his true expression on his face: no feigned innocence now. His features are somber.

"I know who you are, _detective_," he says to her pointedly.

Ellie narrows her eyes. She knew this was coming. "You _think _you know, _John_," she says in a low voice - her real voice this time: low, with a subtle Louisiana lilt, and deadly serious.

"What I don't know is why you're here," Munch continues. His voice also becomes venomous. "Or why you're toying with my friend here."

"First of all, it's not something I can clear up for you in the matter of seconds that we have until he comes back. Second of all, maybe I'm not supposed to tell you, ever think of that?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him, and for a moment she reminds him of Howard.

He raises his voice a little. "In case you haven't noticed, detective, I have a pretty big mouth, and if you don't explain yourself, and fast, the _first_ thing I'm going to do -" he points at her aggressively - "is warn Timmy not to get involved with a bald-faced liar such as yourself!"

"Lower your voice," she says in a tone so matronly that he obeys without thinking. "There is no reason to hurt this man. That's exactly what I'm trying to avoid," she says softly.

"Why should I believe you?" he asks simply.

She laughs out loud and puts a friendly hand on his arm. Munch is thoroughly confused until he sees Tim coming back up to them. Her deceit disgusts him, and he gently takes her hand and removes it from his sleeve like so much lint.

"Hey, Bayliss, I'm trying to get a dance out of your friend here, help me out," Ellie says to Tim once he is in hearing distance. Munch just frowns at her.

"Munch? Dance?" Tim asks doubtfully.

"Yeah. I'd bet money he's a great dancer. Aren't you, John?" she asks in her flirty voice. Munch just stares blankly at her and she starts to panic a little, but Tim is filling in nicely.

"Nah, Munch can't dance. He can barely walk and talk at the same time," Tim teases, leaning against the back of the bar and crossing his arms over his chest.

She gives John a pleading look and he huffs lightly.

"All right," he grumbles. He steps off the stool and offers her his hand, and she takes it in her own, padding out into the middle of the floor. They stop near the jukebox that constantly streams bluesy music, and Munch pulls her into a dancer's patterned embrace.

"Okay, Sybil, give me one good reason I shouldn't give you up this instant," he says quietly as they move together. He lets her out for a spin to think about it for a moment, then pulls her body in again so he can see her eyes.

Even without heels she's tall enough that he doesn't have to bend his head much to meet her hazel gaze. He tries to measure the honesty there.

"Listen, I'm willing to tell you. But I can't tonight," she says earnestly, and his coldness melts - just a little.

They glide on automatic pilot, feet moving in a pattern learned while still young and now ingrained in their memory. Munch is a good dancer - she guessed right.

"Tonight is crucial for this investigation, and I don't have time to tell you the details now," she says softly, then ducks under his arm for a turn.

He shakes his head at her. "I'm not a patient man, Ellie."

"Saturday. Lunch. You can ask me anything you want. But I need tonight. Not for me, John. For this case," she requests matter-of-factly, meeting his eyes.

He is on the verge of relenting. He wants to believe her, she can feel it, but something holds him back.

"What about Bayliss?" he asks.

She tells him the truth. "I get butterflies just looking at him," she admits with a self-conscious smile, then her expression transforms to determination. "I won't hurt him, John. I swear."

John sighs as he considers this. "I should just tell him," he says, lacking conviction. He lets her out for a little twirl. . . 1 2 3 . . . and pulls her back in.

"Good detective gets all the facts," she says gently.

"Good detective follows his gut," Munch counters. She meets his eyes directly, almost like a challenge.

"Well, what does your gut say?" she asks bravely.

They slow their movement. The song is ending. Munch purses his lips into a thin line.

Sighs softly.

"My gut says wait till Saturday," he admits.

Suddenly, he moves his arm firmly around her waist and the world whirls over her head as he dips her towards the floor.

Upright again, she is greeted with Munch smiling at her, and she smiles cautiously in return.

"Thank you," she says meaningfully as his arm lingers around her waist.

"No problem," he says, releasing her. They turn back to the bar where an envious Bayliss has been watching them.

John goes up to him. "Hey, your turn," he says. Bayliss hesitates. Tonight's not Munch's turn to tend bar. "Don't worry about it," John says, waving a hand at him.

"Okay. Okay," Bayliss says, wiping his hands on the white bar rag under the bar, then trading places with his friend. "Thanks," Tim says with a smile. John shakes a hand at him.

Munch turns to his customers. "Okay, who needs a drink?" he asks energetically, and four people raise their hands. Damn. Tim must have been standing there for a while.

Bayliss knows little subtlety. He is warm, eager, like a teenager, she thinks, as he pulls her into his arms and holds her a little too close for actual dancing. Her spine shivers at his palm against her back and the way he's clutching her hand in his own. The song is slow, and they move together simply, back and forth.

She curses herself, and is consumed by shame and wanting in the same moment.

The blond man hopes they leave soon. He hopes they go back to her place. He has already scoped it out. It'll be a cake walk to take the pictures there. She's been leaving her blinds open even though she lives on the first floor where he could easily hide in the bushes around her apartment building and snap away without her noticing. She must be stupid. Or naive. Who leaves their blinds open like that? It doesn't matter. It's a lucky break for him, and he's going to take advantage of it. He just hopes no one notices him leaving at the same time as the dancing couple. He decides to leave and wait for them from outside. She lives close enough that she'll walk home, and he can cut ahead of

her to beat them there.

He pulls on his baseball cap and picks up his duffel, then slides out the door.

The air in the street is still warm compared to the air-conditioned bar, and he sheds his light jacket, stuffing it into his bag. He stands in the shadows and lights a cigarette, waiting patiently for his prey.

They leave sooner than he expects, and he worries for an instant that they'll see them, but his fear passes. They are oblivious to anything but themselves. He watches them walk crookedly, arm in arm, across the street in the direction of her apartment.

He follows carefully. She is unsteady and the man holds her up as they walk, his arms protectively around her. Neither of them seem to mind. He lingers at a stoplight, deliberately letting them get ahead of him, then sneaks around the corner, down a parallel street, and positions himself discreetly in the bushes around her building. A perfect view of her stoop is framed in the long lens of his camera.

They are on the steps, facing each other.

Snap.

He leans in to kiss her, though she looks hesitant.

Snap.

He doesn't stop. Their lips meet, and not in a soft, chaste first kiss, but in a pressing, urgent one.

Snap.

Their arms fold around each other, and the man is kissing her harder than she is kissing him. Insistent.

Snap.

She pulls away first. He leans his forehead against hers. Starts to say something but she puts a hand to his lips. Asks a question. He nods reluctantly. Another short kiss, and then he's begrudgingly letting her go.

Up the stairs. Down the stairs. The door shuts, and there's nothing left to photograph.

The blond man puts his camera away.

Munch is pleasantly shocked to see Tim re-enter the bar only twenty minutes after leaving with a drunk and pliable Ellie Santos.

He actually refrains from making a very easy joke about lack of stamina and just hands his friend a beer.

"You let her down easy?" he asks, unable to resist a gentler tease. "Tell her you're not the kind of guy who sleeps with someone on the first date?"

Tim crinkles his brow, then smiles. Smacks his lips a little. "Yeah, Munch. That's exactly what happened," he says sarcastically to humor John. He grips the dewy beer mug and takes a manly gulp.

Munch is genuinely surprised - happily surprised - about Ellie. Despite his gut telling him to trust her, he suspected she would let her true feelings for Bayliss carry her away. In pushing him away, she had spared Tim some hurt when he finally learned the truth - whatever it may be.

"So, you like this Ellie person?" Much asks.

Tim sighs in response. "Munch, if you're going to start in on her again, I really don't want to hear it, okay?" he says wearily.

"No, Timmy, I'm not going to 'start in on her again' - I really want to know."

Tim examines John's weathered face for sincerity. Satisfied, he relaxes against the bar stool. "Yeah, I like her. But I'm not getting my hopes up."

"You? A pessimist? I thought that was my job," Munch counters.

"Well, I'm just going off my track record, Munch."

"Actually, now that you mention it, the only girlfriend I've ever known you to have is Emma Zoole," Munch says before he can stop himself.

"A shining example," Tim says with a grim smile. He huffs a little. "Let's just say it fit a pattern."

Munch looks at him to continue. Tim sniffs. Rubs his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"The wrong place. The wrong time. The wrong woman."

"You're not a lucky man, Tim Bayliss," Munch says sadly.

"I'm about as lucky as you are, actually," Tim teases softly, taking a sip of his beer.

Munch cocks his head in a half-nod. "True." He reaches over the bar and puts friendly hand on Tim's shoulder.

"I hope yours changes," he says honestly.

Tim smiles back at him. "Right back at you."

Ellie is crying when she disappears inside her apartment. Stupid, damn, cursed fate, to make her long for, care for the man she is about to hurt. She should tell him the truth, this instant. This weekend. She will tell him. She is certain. It's the only way to rescue their potential relationship from this morally questionable situation.

She falls into bed with her face against the pillows, trying to blot out the taste of his lips.

Friday morning and the squad desperately hopes for no overtime this weekend. Every one of them could use the money, but their souls need the rest.

No such luck.

With his usual good fortune, Tim takes the call.

"Frank!" he hollers without looking.

"You bellowed?" comes the calm voice from right behind him.

"Drive-by. Two dead. Possible suspect in custody at the scene," Tim informs him as they both stride towards the coat rack near Gee's office.

"Let's roll," says Frank, and the two exit into the hallway, heading for the stairs.

The dress code is all right for an air conditioned office, but is quickly abandoned on the sweltering street. Suit jackets rest in the back seat and shirt sleeves are rolled up.

The details change, but the case is fairly routine. The two gangbanger victims are the result of an initiation test for a new member of a rival gang. One crucial detail that separates this case from too many others is they actually have a real, bonafide eyewitness willing to testify.

"Unbelievable," mutters Tim Bayliss softly as he and Frank return to the station house in the standard white cavalier. He has the window down, wind fluttering gently through his short hair.

This was going to be a good day.

Yet, when they returned to the squad room, all was not well. Gee was pacing around the room like he had a bad case of heartburn.

"Tell me you have good news," Gee says grimly at his two detectives as they enter the room.

"Suspect in custody. Eyewitness willing to testify," Pembleton answers, keeping it short and simple for his agitated lieutenant.

Gee lets the surprise show for a moment, but recovers quickly. "Good. At least there's one piece of good news."

"Why? What's wrong, Gee?" Tim asks. bending down to get a drink at the water cooler.

"The bosses are jerking me around about the new hire," the man grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"That's too bad," Frank says on his way towards the box. "'Cause we need the help."

A hand escapes a pocket and begins its characteristic gesturing. "Tell me about it." He points around the room. "Munch has been partnerless for almost a year now. Kay is going crazy trying to do two jobs at once." He shakes a finger at Tim and Frank. "You two get divorced and remarried every two months. I've had it. It's time to shake this unit up again. Remind everybody why we're here," Giardello concludes, and he strides out of the squad room into the hallway.

"Shake this unit up?" Tim repeats.

Frank stares after his superior. "Be afraid, Tim." He turns again towards the box. "Be very afraid."

She watches them as they do their dance, a creepy pas de deux that reminds Ellie of wolves circling their doomed prey.

They emerge triumphant, and Ellie exits the observation room as Frank and Tim hand over the young shooter to the uniforms for processing.

The grim, sad look that seems innate to Tim's face lately transforms to a grin as he notices Ellie standing across the room.

He walks up to her, looking more confident than he feels. He's still unsure of her, but she doesn't need to know that. Munch's suspicions tug at his attention, but then she smiles at him, and he is suddenly remembering last night's kiss.

"Hi," he says softly, dipping his head towards hers to compensate for his height.

She is fluttery, shifting her weight from side to side as her bright smile grows unconsciously.

"Hi," she answers.

"Whatcha doin' in my neck of the woods, counselor?" The words are casual enough, but the low tone of voice, the crisp enunciation is disconcertingly intimate.

She leans in to him the slightest bit, but catches herself and straightens up.

"I get to nail that little butt to the wall," she answers with a nod towards the doors where the shooter left from.

They stand in silence.

Bayliss smiles. Sniffs. "So, uh..."

She looks up invitingly.

"You doing anything for dinner?" he asks conversationally.

She smiles again. "You asking me on a date, detective?"

"Yes," he answers.

"Then I accept."

"Good."

They smile shyly at each other until the awkwardness begins, and Bayliss clears his throat. Ellie gestures towards the squad room door.

"Well, back to work," she says.

"Ok."

But he doesn't move. In a wild instant that makes her suck in her breath, he leans in quickly and kisses her, soft and warm on the lips, then pulls away.

"Later?" he says as though he hadn't just made her breathless.

She waves her fingers goodbye. "Later," she manages. He walks away and she retreats to the relative safety of the hallway.

Dinner is nice, but way too long. They sneak glances at each other. Fidget with their silverware. As they wait for the check to come, Tim openly stares at the woman across from him.

And she inwardly cringes. She knows what that look means, and she is unable to return the gaze completely. This man plans to test her resolve, and she will have to find a way to tell him no without the sting of rejection. The worst thing she could do is make love with him, yet as he puts his hand at the small of her back as he leads her out of the restaurant, she knows that is exactly what they both want. Another, more practical part of her tells her that sleeping with someone on the second date is nearly always a bad idea, no matter how cute and sexy the guy may be.

They go to her place. He readily accepts her invitation for coffee, and they go up the stairs. They don't notice the rustling in the bushes.

She discreetly checks the thread around the front door lock before opening the door with jangling keys. Henry, awakened from his slumber, jumps up to meet her.

"Hey, baby," Ellie greets, and the hyperactive dog won't calm down until she has thoroughly scratched his ears and ruffled his fur. She steps up from him. The dog goes up to Bayliss next, his tail wagging slowly. Bayliss is right at home, having never been afraid of an animal in his life. He's much more wary of people.

He bends down and lets the Labrador sniff his hand in introduction, then receives a big wet lick on his palm as a reward. The dog pushes against him in a blatant request for petting, and Tim obliges him.

"Beautiful dog," he says, standing up again.

"Thanks," Ellis answers, shutting the door and going to the kitchen.

"Not exactly a killer guard dog," Tim comments, following her.

"Well, you were with me. That means you're okay," she says, her attention on finding two cups and saucers that match in her half-unpacked state.

His voice is suddenly at her ear. "Just okay?" he whispers, his arms encircling her waist.

Her hands freeze on the cupboard shelf as she feels warm breath along her jaw.

Oh, God is testing me tonight, she thinks as she leans against Tim slightly. His lips graze her neck in the lightest of kisses and her skin jumps to life.

Say something, damnit! she tells herself, as though watching herself from the sidelines.

"Better than okay," she sighs, and she feels his smile against her skin.

Something _else_, she amends.

But it feels so good. He kisses her softly on the insanely sensitive spot behind her ear and like a trigger it makes her sink into him. He holds her tighter, and takes advantage of his discovery, sucking against her neck with silky lips until she feels boneless and shaky in his arms. Suddenly, with a strange cry, she pulls away, twisting in his embrace.

"Tim, I -"

"Ellie," he growls.

"Yes?" she says a young voice.

"Whatever you're going to say?"

She nods.

"It can wait."

And he leans in, arms firmly around her, and kisses her mouth.

This is not fair, she thinks. And yet a part of her, a part she'd like to banish from her soul, notices that they are directly in front of the kitchen window, curtains wide open. If she didn't like him, it would be so different. But she does like him.

And he's kissing her.

Not fast and hot like last night on the stoop. Now his lips meet hers tenderly, with a gentleness that surprises her. His kisses pull a little at her lips, inviting her because he can sense her hesitation. He moves one hand slowly up her neck, feeling the ridges of her spine through the cloth of her dress, until his fingers nest in her hair, gently pressing her to him. His tongue dips between her lips, trying to tease her out, and her heart leaps.

Fuck it. Fuck it all. I want this, she declares inwardly, and she opens herself to him.

He feels her give in. Her muscles relax and melt against him and he plunges his tongue into her mouth, and this time she responds. She parts her teeth for him and takes him in, sucking gently on him as he explores her. Her hands reach up and tangle in his hair. She grabs at the muscles in his neck.

She can't get him close enough.

And oddly, suddenly, they both stop.

Bayliss pulls his lips away from Ellie slowly, regretfully, but with certainty.

She puts the back of her hand to her lips, then across her flaming cheeks, slightly embarrassed. She smiles at him from under a shy gaze, and he gives her a similar smile.

"Well," Tim begins, clearing his throat a little.

"Well," she echoes, looking down at the floor.

His expression sobers. "Ellie?"

She meets his eyes. "Yeah?"

He sniffs and turns away before facing her straight on. "You know, every relationship I've ever had? I've ruined by doing the same stupid thing each time."

She waits for him to finish.

"I get carried away. I end up knowing where her tattoos are but I have no idea what she likes on her toast," Tim says earnestly.

She smiles. "Honey."

It takes him a minute - at first he thinks she's calling him honey - then he realizes she's telling him how she likes her toast. He grins at her, then leans in for a quick kiss.

She takes his hand in hers as they smile at each other. "How about you and I take our coffee, go sit on the couch with Henry and talk?"

"You sure it's safe to sit on the couch together?" he teases in his low, seductive voice. "I'm not sure I can control myself," he says, pulling her into his arms again.

"I can if you can," she challenges, and he grins again.

"Deal," he says, clasping her hand again.

God, for people who looked ready to hop into the sack these two are suddenly talkative. He has been watching from his alcove across the way for three hours now and they are just sitting in the living room talking. He checks his watch again. After midnight.

He sips the tepid coffee from his thermos bottle, wincing at the taste. Nothing like lukewarm java to get you going. He tries to take another sip but it's too much, and he spits it out on the ground near the tree he hides behind.

He looks through the long lens again and sees the couple on the couch. The man smiles again. He's been smiling and laughing all night. The dog stretches and yawns at their feet. The woman looks at her watch, genuinely shocked at the time, and the man looks surprised as well. He stands up. Takes his leave.

He adjusts his position to catch them at the front door. A lingering kiss. Parting words through a crack in the door. And then he's gone.

She turns out the lights, one by one. The dog follows her from room to room until they reach the bedroom, and then the apartment is dark.

He packs up his equipment and goes home to his wife and kids.

Munch nearly doesn't recognize Ellie as she walks up to his table at the restaurant that's across town from anywhere Bayliss might show up.

No make up, her hair is in a loose ponytail, and she is dressed in a baggy grey suit and a white blouse. John is in his usual black garb.

"Hi Munch," she says, and he's not quick enough to hide his surprise.

"Ellie Santos?" he asks sarcastically.

"The one and only," she says, taking a seat across from him at the linen covered table. "Except," she begins, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, "my name's not really Ellie Santos."

Munch absorbs this for a moment. Takes a piece of bread from the basket on the table.

"I should probably start from the beginning," she adds.

"You probably should," he answers.

She sighs and begins her monologue.

"My real name is Eleanor Garza. I was a lawyer in L.A., but from 88 to 91. Then I got sick of law, went to the academy, and became a homicide detective."

His eyebrows raise, but he says nothing. Let the suspect talk.

"I know Ed because he and my sister went out when they were in college together. Your IAD came to Ed with a problem, and he thought of me."

She takes a sip of her water, and the waiter chooses this moment to come by. They order a little curtly, making it clear they want to be left alone, and the waiter scurries away.

"So IAD tells Ed about a case they're working on. Seems 'someone' is blackmailing lawyers in the lovely city of Baltimore. They think it might be a cop, but the lawyers aren't talking. Apparently this guy gets something dirty on the lawyer, usually personal. Adultery. Gambling habit. Something appropriately embarrassing. And then, just for insurance, the guy manages to steal evidence from crime scenes without anyone

noticing and then holds that over the lawyer's head as well. So he threatens them professionally as well."

She pauses.

"Why?" Munch prompts, then notices she stopped because the waiter is close enough to hear as he brings their salads. She's more

observant than he is, he'll give her that. Or more paranoid.

"Thanks," she says to the boy with a smile, then waits until he leaves.

"So anyway, Ed calls me because I'm a detective who happens to have been a lawyer, which gets everybody out of any messy situations should I have to pretend to actually do lawyer-like stuff," she explains, completely ignoring her salad. She is keeping her voice low, but casual.

"So I try to figure out what I can do that's morally questionable for this guy to blackmail me over, without really being morally questionable."

"Ergo screwing over Timmy," Munch interjects bitterly.

His words have a physical impact as she retracts her head as though he had slapped her. "I haven't done anything wrong," she answers, clearly hurt. "I'm not lying to him about the feelings." It's weak, she knows. But it's true.

Munch leans in toward her. "It's not that you've lied, although you have. It's that he's this close to falling in love with you, and that's a really sore spot with him," he explains.

"I didn't expect that. I didn't expect to fall for him myself. It... it's a lame excuse, Munch, but it just happened," she says pleadingly. She drops her head for a moment, staring at the suddenly ridiculous salad. She's not going to eat it. She's too upset, and stress always goes to her stomach. She looks up at him again, and is shocked to see a spark of sympathy in his mostly doubtful eyes.

"So now I'm waiting for the guy to approach me. Probably with pictures of us. I've seen somebody sneaking around my building. And Bayliss mentioned that they didn't find the murder weapon involved in that drive-by this morning and I'm wondering, _hoping_ that this mess will get resolved in the next few days," she concludes, running a hand through her bangs. She glances at the salad and it makes her sick. She pushes it away gently.

"Why would you and Bayliss having a relationship be a problem?" he asks.

"It's not. Just embarrassing, really. Brand new lawyer immediately establishing a reputation for sleeping around with the lead investigator on a case? Doesn't look good," she reasons.

Munch stares uncomfortably at the table, his fork - anything but her. He says it softly. "You have to tell him, Ellie."

"I know I do, Munch."

"If you don't tell him, I will."

"I know that, too." She sighs softly, then looks up to meet his gaze. "I'll tell him before Monday."

He nods. "Thank you for telling me," he says sincerely.

She smiles a little. "I know you're just gonna go check on everything I've said. Having my real name should help this time around," she teases lightly, and is rewarded with a small grin.

She pulls her wallet out her pocket and drops a few bills on the table. "I think I'd better go find Tim," she says, standing up from her chair.

"I know you're in a tough spot -"

She waves it away. "You going soft on me, Munch?" she says as she starts to leave, and he smiles as he watches her walk away.

It's Saturday afternoon, a nice lazy day. The rain lets up enough around 2 that Ellie decides it's safe to walk down to the Waterfront.

She takes Henry with her, and they patter down the wet cobblestones together towards the bar, happy to be outside.

She has spent most of the morning trying to track Tim down. Called his apartment. Called the station. Only thing left was the bar.

And this wasn't something that she should tell him on the phone.

They bound in the door together to the quiet bar, and the warm air envelops them. She smiles at a sleepy Munch behind the bar.

"Hey, counselor," he says with a wry grin.

"Hey," she rejoins, coming up to a stool. He glances at the hound.

"Who's this?"

"Henry."

Munch nods. "What can I getcha?"

"Sparkling water?"

Another nod. He turns his back to her briefly and she scans the place - just a man by the window, reading the paper.

"He around?" she asks as he hands her a bottle and a glass with ice.

"He's due any minute."

Her turn to nod. She fiddles with a napkin. Takes a sip. Looks around again. Smiles uncomfortably.

"Out with it, Ellie," Munch growls amiably.

She looks away sheepishly, then meets his eyes. "There's something else I haven't told you."

"Color me surprised," he says with his usual sarcasm.

"I'm going to apply to be a detective in your department," she says, bracing herself for his reaction.

He straightens up. "Humph. Is that all? I guessed that already," he says easily with an honest smile.

She grins back at him, and then the door is opening, and she turns to see Timmy walk in.

"Hello," he says, pleasantly surprised to see her. He comes up to her, easily planting a kiss on her lips.

"Hi," she says, charmingly shy. Munch meanders a few steps away to give them privacy.

Tim bends down to pet the dog, then brings an arm up around her.

"Where've you been?" she asks petulantly.

He smiles. "What? You looking for me?"

"Yes."

His smile widens, showing off his impossibly bright teeth. "Well, here I am - what's up?"

She sobers. "I need to talk to you."

The grin disappears. "Why do I have this uh-oh feeling..."

"It's not the end of the world. But it is important," she says, trying to find the balance that expresses her urgency.

He nods. "Tell you what. I gotta put in some hours here. How about I come by, say around ten? And we'll talk," he suggests,

taking her seriously.

He's so earnest, so trusting... she feels her eyes sting and she smiles quickly. "Thank you," she whispers, and gives him a quick hug.

"You walk?" he asks after they pull away.

She nods.

"You better get back - it's starting to rain," he says.

"You want a ride?" Munch offers from his stance a few feet away. They both turn to him.

"No, thanks, Munch," she replies, then stands up from the bar. She peels a few bills out of her wallet and leaves them on the bar.

Tim reaches for the money. "Hey, it's on the house."

"No, no, no, sweetie." She waits until he looks at her eyes. "I always pay my debts."

He shrugs. Another kiss, and she's pulling on Henry's leash to wake him up from his nap on the warm hardwood floor.

"Munch, thanks. For everything," she says over her shoulder.

He waves goodbye. "Anytime."

Bayliss walks her to the door. Watches her hurry down the street in the drizzle. Then turns to his friend with a raised eyebrow.

"'Everything'?"

Ellie has fallen asleep on the couch waiting for Tim. A pounding noise breaks through her fog of sleep and in an instant she is awake.

She's two inches from the door when he thumps loudly against the door again.

"Who is it?" she asks, the knocking seeming too harsh to come from the gentle Bayliss.

"'S'me," comes the slurred answer. A peek through the peephole confirms that it is indeed Bayliss, though wobbly and drunk.

She slides the chain lock open, turns the deadbolt and opens the door for him. He looks plastered.

"Bay?" she asks with concern. She moves towards him and he stumbles into her embrace as he comes into the apartment.

"You okay?" she questions him as he throws an arm over her shoulders. He grins stupidly.

"Hey, that rhymes!"

Okay, she thinks, so he's just drunk. She begins to move him towards the couch. He probably just needs to sleep it off. She's certainly not going to tell him when he's in this condition.

He won't move. She looks up at him to see why he is simply standing there and is surprised to see him staring at her. Before she can ask him what is wrong, his mouth descends on hers.

Beer, smoke and salt invade her senses. His tongue tastes like alcohol and peanuts.

God, she can hardly breathe he's kissing her so hard. His arms are around her, hands clutching the skin at her back.

It feels like an assault.

She pulls her lips away. "Bay, maybe you should lie down -"

He is insistent. And he is strong. The kisses mellow a little, as though he realizes he's scaring her, and he pushes her softly, backing her up toward the bedroom. They cross the threshold, and now his hands flutter at her belly, inching toward her chest hesitantly as his kisses distract her.

She keeps backing up. This is not what she planned. He needs to know.

He kisses her secret spot below her ear, and she groans. This couldn't be happening at a worse time. She needs to tell him, and she steels herself against him.

She pushes softly against his chest. "Bay..."

Sensing her hesitation, he moves against her forcefully until she finds that she can't back up anymore. Her tailbone hits the windowsill, and his kisses pin her there. She squirms a little, but this only seems to galvanize him, and then his hands...

His hands move slowly down her sides, making her shiver, and then without warning he turns her around, pressing her against the window.

Ellie's protests are muffled by the sensation of his silky lips against her neck. Those hands begin their exploration over her, and she takes in her breath as one hand slides smoothly over her breast. The other hovers over her navel.

"Ellie?" he asks quietly, his breath brushing over her ear. His hands feel restless against her skin.

"Yes?" she manages.

"Don't you think we'd be great at this?" he asks huskily. He lowers his lips to her neck again, and his hands roam her body - tentatively at first, but then he feels her leaning back against him and his touch becomes firmer.

GOD. Her head screams at her. Stop _now_. He will hate you when you tell him.

She twists in his arms to fit in his embrace, forcing his hands to stay against her back. She throws her arms around him and holds him tightly against her, as though her life was in his hands. She is shocked to find herself near tears, and her voice breaks.

"I do think we'd be great, Bay. I do." She sniffs and buries her head against his shirt. "But not like this."

He reaches carefully behind her and with two slender fingers pulls the shade down over the window.

Slowly, he leads her towards the bed. She's nervous, unsure of his intentions, but she doesn't pull away as he brings her onto the bed with him.

He curls himself around her, his arms gently encircling her waist.

"It's okay," he says softly, kissing her on top of her head. "It's okay."

Finally, by degrees, she relaxes in his arms and they sleep.

She wakes up alone.

The rain pounds against the window, and the sky is unnaturally dark for 8 a.m.

The night before comes to her like scraps of a dream half-remembered. Interminable kisses and warm, soft hands. It killed her to stop him.

But she did, and they had fallen asleep together on her bed.

So where was he?

"Yeah?"

"You always answer your phone so cordially, detective?"

"Oh, hi, _Eleanor_."

"Ellie, John. That part was true."

"Uh... not that I don't love the sound of that linguistically complex voice of yours, but to what do I owe the pleasure of such an early morning phone call?"

"Munch. It's noon."

"Like I said, early."

"I can't find him. He came over last night. We fell asleep. I woke up and he was gone."

"That's more my M.O."

"Nothing happened!"

"Did you tell him?"

"He was three sheets to the wind."

"What?"

"He came over a little before eleven, drunk and... drunk and horny."

"Huh."

"What?"

"He only had one beer, Ellie. I was with him the whole shift."

"Well, then he chased it with something after he left the bar, John, because he was gone."

"Well, I haven't seen or heard from him since last night. I'm sorry."

"If you do..."

"I'll send him your way."

"Thanks, Munch. I... I appreciate it."

"Sure. Well, I think I'll go back to bed if you don't mind."

"Sleep away. Sweet dreams."

"See ya."

Further investigation into the whereabouts of Detective Tim Bayliss prove fruitless. All leads are followed to no avail. Messages are left at the detective's home and place of work.

She sits at home, waiting. She's half asleep when the phone rings.

Ellie answers up the phone groggily, but with an anxious tone.

"Hello?"

"Meet me at the Boat House. Fifteen minutes," hisses a voice. "Come alone. I have something you'll want to see."

The man hangs up before she can say a word.

Great, Ellie sighs. It is happening now, before she can call anyone for back up, before she can let Ed know, and before she had talked to Bayliss.

Fabulous.

She pulls on sneakers and a raincoat and heads out into the dark, damp day.

The guy is a cliché from beginning to end. He tries his tough guy act on her and when he realizes she is less than intimidated, he produces his goods to convince her. Shows her grainy black and white photos of her and Tim embracing, kissing... and one he must have taken just the night before. She faces the window, with an embarrassing expression of tortured arousal. Tim's face is clearly visible as he kisses her neck from behind her, and his hands are captured against her body.

The pipsqueak makes some leery comment and she frowns at him. Tells him this isn't enough to really ruin her reputation so why should she fork over ten grand just to keep him quiet?

He plays his trump card. A certain murder weapon will disappear forever unless she pays him. She asks if it's the gun from Friday's drive by and he shrugs.

"Maybe."

What a horrible liar. This guy would have never made it past patrol, even if he wasn't a rat bastard extortionist.

She tells him to meet her at her office early the next morning. Make it look casual, like it's no big deal, and she'll get him the money. She is inwardly stunned when he agrees. He's stupid enough to believe her line that her plan makes their arrangement less suspicious than meeting in a dark alley as he suggested.

He leers again, lets her keep the photos, saying he'll give her the negatives the next morning. Then he's sauntering out the door of the dimly lit bar.

She stares at the photos.

Where the fuck are you, Bayliss?

She makes the calls to Danvers and IAD. She'll wear a wire, and they may even hide a camera in the office, since juries just love videos. 7 a.m. Monday morning.

She has less than twelve hours to find Tim.

She falls asleep on the couch, phone within reach.

She goes through her morning routine mechanically. Make up. Hair. Suit. Shoes.

Part of her is crying over the soon to be death of her relationship with a wonderful, beautiful man. As soon as he finds out, he will never forgive her.

That mournful part of her tries to console herself with scenarios of what someone else might do in her shoes, with the fact that she did at least tell Munch, and that Ed knows the whole story from beginning to bitter end.

All of which is little comfort to her. So she shields herself with affected apathy and goes, robot-like, to work.

She manages to muster enough anxiety to appear convincing to the twerp. He gleefully spills his beans. She even manages to get him to admit that he's done it before to other lawyers. IAD will love her forever now, and Ed will get pats on the back for his clever plan, now that it's a success.

It's over. The twerp's in handcuffs. Appropriately, he is stunned that she was working undercover. IAD officers take him away to central booking.

And she's left staring at the elevator.

"Now we be a great time to go talk to Giardello, don't you think?" Ed asks, oblivious to her rapidly paling complexion.

"Sure," she answers, her stomach lurching inside of her.

The elevator ride to the second floor is a gastronomic roller coaster. The closer they get room 203, the more she falls prey to her anxiety, and she's nearly shaking as she follows Ed into the squad room.

She's afraid to look around for him. She focuses on Giardello's door, a life saver just out of reach, when Munch's voice floats across the room to her.

"Hey counselor," he says, friendly. His expression drops when he sees her look at him in startled fear. Ed has gone ahead of her, and Munch walks up to her quickly from his perch at his desk.

"Ellie?" he asks.

"Is he here?" she asks tremulously.

"Bayliss?"

"He doesn't know, yet, Munch, I couldn't find him!" she says pleadingly in a low voice. "We just made the arrest -"

"Ellie?" Danvers asks from Gee's office. The door is open and Gee waits inside. Ellie tears herself from Munch, and in the nine steps to Gee's door, manages to compose her face.

Munch watches miserably as the door closes.

"Hey, Munch."

John spins his head towards Tim, who has just come back from the break room, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand.

For once, John Munch is mute. Reason enough to make Tim Bayliss suspect something's up.

He looks at John's concerned and puzzled face. To Gee's office.

"She in there?" he asks casually.

John stares at him. Why is Tim so calm? Damn near placid. Comprehension begins to dawn on him.

"Did you purposely avoid her?" he asks.

Tim takes a sip of his coffee. He looks at Gee's office again, seeing Ellie's back through the open blinds. Without looking at Munch he mumbles, "When she gets out of there, tell her I'm in the box."

He walks away, disappearing inside the yellow interrogation room.

Munch sits down as he begins to have a small personal moral crisis.

Holy shit. He _did_! The bastard purposely stayed away from Ellie, when all she had been trying to do all weekend was tell him the truth! And what the hell was up with Tim getting drunk off one beer and showing up at her place supposedly wasted Saturday night? Why would he pretend to be drunk? Funny, actually, since she had essentially done the same to him... done the same... the same. What the hell was he trying to do?

Munch bolts up from his chair, readying himself to have at it with Bayliss in the box when the door to Gee's office opens. Danvers asks to talk to Gee alone, and suddenly Ellie is out in the squadroom, scanning the room. She walks up to him.

The anxiety on her face asks the question, and he answers sadly. "He's in the box."

She nods thanks and goes straight for the door, but Munch can't let her go in there without knowing, and he trots after her.

"Ellie -"

She's surprised. He has his hand on her arm. "Maybe that's not a good idea," he says lamely.

"Munch, I have to tell him now or I swear to God I'll die," she says, knowing it's an exaggeration. But just barely. She's feeling sicker by the minute. Her hand turns the knob and she disappears inside.

Munch stares at the closed door, and with only a moment's hesitation, makes a decision he knows he will probably regret. He

slips into the observation room discreetly and, with a combination of anticipation and self-disgust welling in his stomach, watches the scene unfold.

Tim is sitting at the scratched up table, long legs barely fitting underneath it, and stirring his coffee.

"Bay?" Ellie asks in a timid voice. He waits a moment, then looks up at her with a masked expression.

"Hi," he says with a narrow smile.

"I've been looking for you," she says.

He cocks his head a little. "Yeah, I know," he says easily, and he unfold himself from the too small chair and stands up next to her. Too close as always, but he makes no move to touch her. "What's up?" he asks calmly.

She looks down at her feet, the picture of agony. "I have to tell you something."

"Okay."

"Bay... you're going to find out some things about me that will probably make you hate me -"

He lets puzzlement cross his features. "Why would I hate you? You were only doing your job," he says calmly. Too calmly.

Munch cringes in the other room as he sees her reaction.

Her eyes widen. He knows.

He knows.

Her brain kicks into rational gear, deadening her feelings in defense, and she asks herself, How the hell does he know?

It's rather obvious. "Munch," she says with certainty.

Bayliss takes a step away, taking his eyes away from her. "It's okay. I understand." He's using that tone of voice he reserves for gaining rapport with suspects. Here it comes, she thinks.

His eyes turn to steel. "You were just using me."

Her emotional numbness vanishes, and her knees weaken beneath her. It's over. It's ruined. God! Her fault for not telling him. Munch's fault, partially, but mostly her own.

She shakes her head a little involuntarily.

"No? You weren't using me?" he asks softly. He has moved closer to her while appreciating the myriad emotions floating over her features, and now stands inches from her.

She begins calmly. "I did use you." There's no point in denying it. And suddenly, she sees how she can salvage their relationship.

He's hurt, Ellie. _You_ hurt him. And he's going to hurt you. Here. Right now. And you have to take it. You have to be honest, and humble, and just eat it.

"But you have to know that everything that I told you - about _me_, how I felt - all of that was true," she says earnestly. She meets his eyes, pleading silently, but the sparkle of anger she sees reflected in his tells her that this is far from over.

"Really?" He leans closer. He's got her backing away from him unconsciously. "_Everything_ about you?"

Her back hits cold, yellow brick. He takes another step forward. His voice comes as a whisper. "About us?"

He dips his head towards her intimately. "Was that true, too?"

She meets his eyes openly. She allows the vulnerability to enter her voice, just for one word. "Yes."

He's a little surprised. He doesn't expect her to open up like that.

Defense mechanisms kick in. He waggles his index finger in her face and grins.

"You're good," he says facetiously.

Her hopes fall. "Bayliss, don't," she says weakly. She suddenly feels how tired she is - like she could just slide down the wall and curl into a ball on the hard, cement floor. Just sleep for ages.

He cocks his head as though puzzled. "Bayliss? I'm Bayliss now?" he asks with a hint of regret. She fights not to flinch as he reaches out to her. His fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Not Tim?" he asks, inching closer.

He is so cruel.

His fingers slide to her neck, feeling the strong, fast pulse beneath warm skin. Feeling her reaction to him even as he makes her greatest fear come to life. His fingertips slide, slowly, slowly down the edge of her blouse.

His voice is a breath against her lips. "Not Bay?"

He wanted to leave her, breathless, alone in the room. Feeling as dirty as he has felt. But for a moment, he forgets his intentions. For a moment, all he feels is the swell of her breast beneath his hand. He smells the warm, sweet breath, mingling in the air between their lips. His body leans in against hers, heavily, languidly, and he feels her pushing against him.

Pushing past him.

"No," she says, choking on a sob. She takes a further step away from him. "Not Bay. Not anymore."

She walks over to the observation window at the back of the room, turning her back to Tim.

"You don't feel that way towards me," she manages, disgusted with herself at how much this is upsetting her. She WILL NOT cry in front of him. She will not.

"Oh, but you feel that way towards me?" he asks bitterly. She can feel the heat of his glare like sunlight on her neck.

She can't look at him. Not if he's going to look at her like that. With hate.

"I did," she says softly. "I thought you did, too." She turns slowly, and her eyes look up at him through a veil of protection. She will not cry. "Last night. When you came over. Drunk. Eager." She says it with the slightest hint of hope.

"Ah," he says, with the littlest, evilest of smiles. "_That_."

He takes a few steps closer to her. Lowers his voice. "I was just... helping you out," he says slowly; so that she'll understand.

He had known by then.

He had taken advantage.

And he thought he was entitled.

The sheer force of the anger is unexpected. She can barely keep herself from striking him. From wiping that godamn self-satisfied grin off his face with her fist.

He dares to move closer to her, again seemingly trapping her. "Did you think you were the only one with a dark side, Ellie?" he asks.

He is so cruel.

"Hmm?" he prods when she remains silent. "Did you think you were the only one who could deceive?" he asks, the last word venomous and soft.

She wants to bolt. More than anything, she wants to escape the horror of having Bayliss turn on her with such... zeal. She can't look at him, and she rushes to move past him.

But he sees it coming. She struggles a moment, and then he's got her turned around, her face against the glass of the observation mirror, and his hands, damn it, his hands...

One on her stomach. One on her neck, pulling her hair away from her ear.

His whisper like a serpent's hiss tickles at her neck.

"How does it feel to _prostitute_ yourself for a job, huh?" He pushes himself against her, and it breaks her heart because she can feel him hard against the small of her back. He's either enjoying this or he really does feel for her. Either way, this is going very badly.

"You bastard," she whispers back. "I stopped myself from doing exactly that, and you know it. You were there."

This makes him angry. "Oh, you must mean this," he says, and his Goddamn hands start moving again, over her clothes, again on her breast, between her legs.

And her body betrays her, moving into his touch. Disgusted with herself she marshalls her strength and shoves him away roughly. Her plans to save them disintegrate.

"Keep your hands off me, Bayliss," she hisses at him, turning to fix a glare on him.

He backs up slowly to the door. Turns the handle.

He gives her a bitter smile. "No problem, Garza," he replies. He

rips the door open and strides out, slamming it behind him.

Ellie feels like she's been punched in the stomach. Her eyes are tearing, damn it, damn it! No crying. NO CRYING! She slams her palms against her eyelids, pushing hard until she feels the pain in her eyeballs, then she drops her hands.

She stares at herself in the mirror. Rubs away the smudge of liner underneath her eyes. Sniffs once. Twice.

"Fuckin' Munch," she says to herself softly.

She wipes her hands against her suit jacket and walks over to the door, opening it calmly. She steps out into the squad room amid raised voices.

"Bayliss, you fuck, what the hell did you do that for?"

Munch's voice. She looks up to see John in Tim's face, pointing his finger almost up the detective's nose.

"You were eavesdropping?" Tim asks with a sneer.

Munch ignores him. "I told you about her so you could protect yourself, not so you could hurt _her_!" he yells, loud enough to make everyone turn to look.

"Get your finger outta my face, John," Tim growls, taking a step forward so that the men bump.

"Oh, yeah? I dunno, I think I won't, whatta ya think about that?" the older detective asks, pushing a hand against Tim's chest.

In a blind moment, Tim shoves up against his friend hard, and in another instant Pembleton and Lewis are prying the two men apart.

Ellie stands in genuine stupefaction near the door to the box. Munch was listening. Munch saw. And Munch is defending her?

"Hey, hey, hey!" hollers Lewis as Munch shakes out of his grip. "What the hell is going on with you two?"

"I dunno," Bayliss answers sharply. "Why don't you ask Munch, here?" He shoots a look at Ellie. "Or _her_," he growls venomously.

Kellerman, Lewis, Pembleton and Howard look back and forth from Ellie, who stands dumb, to the two men, who still glare at each other.

The door opens to Gee's office.

Ed slips out quickly and Lieutenant Al Giardello fills the doorway.

"Detective Garza," he calls out gruffly. It's a tone everyone recognizes as deadly serious. Ellie feels her spine snap to attention. "Detective Bayliss," he adds, equally stern.

"Yes, sir," she answers automatically, to the amazement of most of the people in the room. Bayliss just nods and strides directly to the office, disappearing inside almost cheerfully as he anticipates vindication.

But Ellie knows what's coming, and after his performance in the box just now, Bayliss will be shocked. Focusing on Giardello, she

runs the gauntlet between the box and the office, walking stiffly past nearly physical stares.

She feels no relief when Al closes the door behind her. This was supposed to fix everything but now she wonders how Bayliss will

react.

"Sir, I'm sorry," she begins. Bayliss huffs childishly.

"For what?" Giardello asks, as though he hadn't witnessed the previous scene.

"I've disrupted your squad -"

He waves a hand. "Testosterone," Gee dismisses. "Nothing they haven't dealt with before."

Bayliss manages to contain any comment on that remark, while Ellie cocks her head doubtfully and remains silent.

"That doesn't interest me. You and your work interest me," Gee says plainly.

Ellie doesn't hide her surprise. "Excuse me?"

Neither does Bayliss. "What?"

"You've both done a great service for this department, detective. IAD, the state's attorney's office, the brass - they're all very grateful," the lieutenant explains.

"Gee -" Bayliss begins to protest, but Gee continues.

"Now, Tim, I know you probably will take the modest way out, but really, the brass wants to thank you for cooperating with IAD's investigation," Gee reasons.

Ellie gauges Tim's reaction: He is absolutely stunned.

"Cooperating?" he repeats lamely with wide eyes.

"Yes. Detective Garza told me all about it just now. That you were in on her ruse to trap the suspect and that you both kept it from everyone in order to remain believable."

Bayliss is still looking at Gee as though he's insane.

"Bayliss, what's the matter with you?" Gee asks outright.

Tim looks at Gee. Looks at Ellie. Backpedals quickly.

"Nothing, Gee," Bayliss answers. He makes a decision. "I just thought... I thought we were going to tell you together," Bayliss covers, with a complex glance to Ellie. Gratitude? Confusion? A mixture she's unable to decipher.

"Thanks, Gee, but I don't think anybody needs to make a big deal out of it," Bayliss says, inching towards the door.

Gee nods. "I knew you'd say something like that. I say take whatever credit you can get. A letter of appreciation never hurt anyone's personnel folder," he says. "As for me, I'm happy to have the bosses off my back for a short while, which at least deserves a thank you. So please, let me have that, all right?"

Bayliss nods. "Ok, Gee." He takes another step towards the door. "I'm, uh... I'm just gonna go back out there now and, uh..." He shoots his lieutenant a slightly sarcastic look, "...'explain' things to the guys, ok?"

Without waiting for an answer, Tim slips out the door, shutting it behind him, and Ellie stares at the frosted glass.

"He doesn't know what the hell I'm talking about, does he?" Gee says softly.

She turns back to him. She shakes her head a little.

"Well. For now, we have other things to discuss," Gee says, wisely leaving the issue alone. If a good detective can sum up a person in fifteen seconds, then there is no doubt Gee was a great detective in his time. He knew what was going to happen with these two the first time he saw them in a room together. He also knows that things will shake out however they shake out, and nothing he says will change that.

Ellie ventures cautiously, "Such as?"

"You've impressed me," Gee answers, admiring her directness. "I'd like to invite you to apply for the new hire in this unit."

Ellie blinks. Once. Twice.

"If you're searching for something to say, 'thank you' will suffice," Gee suggests.

Ellie smiles nervously. "I'm sorry - thank you. Thank you. I just -" She rubs her forehead with the back of her hand, then sighs and looks up the kind, broad face in front of her. "This has been the best and worst day of my life."

Gee smiles sympathetically. "Well, keep your strength, detective. Hiring a new person in this place is an elephantine production. You've got miles to go," Gee warns.

"Thank you," she says again, leaning in to shake his hand, and then she turns towards the door. Her hand turns the knob and she steps out into the squad room.

Munch and Bayliss are gone. The other detectives offer her a hesitant congratulations. Ed has explained everything to them, but the argument between Munch and Bayliss remains a mystery. She shakes a hand or two. Responds modestly. She wonders if she will ever feel comfortable around these people.

Only Ed offers any refuge. She walks up to him. He puts a friendly hand at her back and they leave the squad room together.

She goes home.

She waits.

She uses her LAPD vacation time and stays a while.

She gives him a week.

On the seventh day after he broke her heart, she goes to look for him.

It's 2 p.m. on a Saturday. Raining. She walks into the Waterfront, this time without Henry, and sees him tending bar.

He gives her a wary, defiant look. "What are you doing here?" Bayliss asks.

"Looking for you," she answers neutrally.

"Hey, Bayliss, we need to order more -" Lewis stops himself as he comes in from the kitchen. He looks back and forth between the two of them.

"Meldrick, watch the bar," Tim says without looking at him. Lewis nods, and watches the couple disappear into the back office.

They don't look at each other. They stand at opposite ends of the room in their sweatshirts and jeans and stare at their feet.

Aching moments go by. She realizes that she will have to start, and what she says will set the tone, might even determine how the conversation ends.

"I _miss_ you," she says softly.

He shuffles his feet like a teenager, and her hope is renewed.

"I know I hurt you. I know you hurt me to get back at me. To even us out somehow."

More fidgeting.

"And you did us a favor, Bay."

He stands still at that.

"Because we're both in the same boat now. We're both hurt. We've hurt each other."

He is still silent.

She takes a breath. This is the hardest part. "I know how I feel. I know what I want." And she stops. She can't say the rest, because it will feel like begging, and she would never beg. She waits.

Tim sniffs. Shifts his weight.

"Well." He pauses. "Well, so far we've matched each other blow for blow," he says. He finally looks up for a moment to catch her eyes, and for a moment he feels like he can read her soul there. "So if you feel something, chances are good that I feel it too," he reasons.

She's still unsure. She can't believe that it could be this easy. Munch had told her that Bayliss was consumed with guilt over the way he had treated her, but she wasn't sure that guilt was the best motivation for a reconciliation. Yet he seemed to be saying he wanted what she wanted.

Ellie walks slowly, hesitantly over to him, and stops directly in front of him. She gently takes his hand. He lets her lift his palm to her face. She puts her own palm on his cheek and presses softly until they are looking at each other.

His eyes seem to melt as he gazes at her. She is surprised, but so grateful to God when she feels him slide his arm around her and bring her to him.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, his perfect voice oddly rough, and astonishing her even further, he leans forward and kisses her gently on the lips.

She tastes him again, soft, warm and careful, a test of her reaction. She kisses back in the same gentle way, but with an answering certainty.

"I'm sorry, Bay, I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely. She rubs her salty lips against his again in a healing kiss, her hand still warm against his cheek, and he responds strongly, pulling her closer and lengthening their kiss.

They pause at the same moment, leaning their foreheads together and both smiling.

He pulls her into a hug that they've been aching for for days.

It's all that they wanted -

A clean slate.

Author's Notes:

Oh, it's so mushy I can hardly stand it, but I had to satisfy the romantic in me. Sorry that I deviated so much from the usual Homicide fare! But if you're a Bayliss lover, then you can see how I was led astray...

OWNERSHIP: Homicide: Life on the Street belongs to NBC and Baltimore Pictures and its characters are used here without permission. No copyright infringement intended and no profit being made from their use. This work of fiction and the character of Ellie Santos belong to me.


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